Page 38 of Geordie

The dark bedroom has my eyes adjusting to the dim. A golden shaft of light spreads out on the other side of the bed from a bedside table. Even in this room there's a sense of him: neat, dark wood, gray-blue color, masculine.

“Lily, I'm in here,” he calls.

The door to the bathroom is slightly open; the clean aroma of steam and soap still linger. I step to the door, seeing his prone figure on the floor and him without a stitch on. I shuffle out of view. “What happened?”

“A prescription bottle with one pill is on the kitchen counter. It's my doctor's way of preventing me from becoming a drug addict,” he quips. “Could you fetch it and bring a glass of water?”

Retracing my steps into the kitchen, I find the bottle, then drop my shopping bag of groceries on the counter and look through the cupboard for a glass to fill with water. Remembering he's European, I search for bottled water and find it in the refrigerator and fill his glass. The sound of my footsteps disturbs the quiet apartment as I pad down the hallway. I stop outside the bathroom door, not wanting to go in. “I have what you asked for, but can you do me a favor before I come in?”

“Really,” he groans. “What do you want from me? Are you planning to ransom that wee bottle you have in your hand?”

He actually thinks I'm that devious as to bribe my way into Catriona? I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “No, I'm thinking of modesty. Can you reach a towel and place it over your junk?”

A throaty chuckle drifts from the bathroom. “I know you've seen a naked man, lass. This can't be a new experience for you. I met your ex-boyfriend. You don't strike me as being a couple that would abstain. If that is your wish, I'll find something to protect my modesty.”

There's a sharp intake of breath and I'm regretting my request if shifting his body caused him pain.

“Don't move,” I say, spying what I think is a linen closet. I yank the door open and I'm rewarded with the sight of a large, fluffy stack of gray towels. I come into the bathroom, turning my face away, and drop a towel near him. “Here, maybe this is easier to use for a coverup.”

“Thank you for the help.” After a few moments, he announces, “You can look at me now. The interesting parts are well hidden. Now, that pill, please.”

I crouch beside Geordie, handing him the pill while I scan his body. It looks like he’s injured his right ankle and knee again. I see why he's having a problem standing. There's a fresh injury to his other knee, and it's swollen as well.

Geordie pops the pill in his mouth and chases it with water. “Thanks, you can leave. That's all I needed.”

I inch closer to get a better look at his injuries. “I'm not going anywhere, at least not until you're properly cared for.”

Suspicion narrows his eyes and we're back on familiar ground. “So, you're determined to be my nurse? That's touching, but I don't need one.”

“It looks like you do.”

“Thank you, but I don't need you.”

I glance down at his banged-up knees and ankle. “You might not want me, but I'm here, willing to help. I'm taking care of you. You can stop the witty banter.” He stares at me like this isn't over. I ignore the challenge. “That pill should kick in soon, then I'll help you to the bed. I saw that tired-looking TV dinner you had in the microwave. I'll fix you dinner.”

We talk until he feels strong enough to let me help him to his feet. I'm clutching his towel, trying to keep it around him. I don't know why I bother; he doesn't appear to be concerned that he's nude.

I try to steer him to the bed, but he says he'd like to relax on the couch. Before we make our journey there, he asks me to find a T-shirt and shorts, so he can dress. I leave him alone for a few minutes to change, then we do this strange little hop, lean, walk, him holding onto the wall, trying not to put pressure on my shoulder as we maneuver to the couch.

“The best thing you can do for your knee is to keep it elevated. Are you planning to see the doctor tomorrow? You should have your physician reevaluate your injuries.”

“I'll think about it,” he says, giving me a stubborn man's answer. This must be making him crazy, having to rely on me, because he really doesn't have anyone in his life to help him. He watches me as I move around the kitchen.

“What delights will come from my kitchen tonight?” he asks with a forced grin.

“I knew I wouldn't have much time to prepare anything. The dish tonight will be simple. Mushroom steak and salad. Will that be okay, or is there something else in your refrigerator you'd like?” Opening the refrigerator, I notice every scrap of food I placed there is now gone, except for three eggs left in the carton.

There's the aroma of burnt food from the microwave. It's an overcooked meal. I pull it out and deposit it in the bin.

I find staples in the cupboard that I left here the first time I cooked for him; they'll help with the sauce. “Are you going to tell me how you injured yourself, or is that a secret?” turning the flame up on the stove.

He glances down at his injuries, considering what he's about to say. “No, it's not a secret. It's probably one of the most common injuries at home. After my shower, shampoo got into my eyes. The towel was on the rack a few steps away. I grabbed at it but didn't notice there was water splashed on the floor. Because of my ankle, I couldn't balance, and I fell. My phone was on the sink and I was able to grab it to call you. Trying to drag myself all the way to the kitchen would have been a trip I didn’t want to experience.”

I nod, opening the packet of steaks to season.

“I know Dalliance is open tonight. Don’t you need to go back to the restaurant?”

“That’s why sous chefs were invented, and I have the best in the business. He's also my partner. He understood it was an emergency,” I lie. “I would do the same for him.”

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