Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
The doctor nods and turns her attention to me. “Well, hop up on the exam table so I can take a look. Are you feeling lightheaded now?”
I shake my head.
“Good. As a precaution, I’ll have you lie all the way back, and if you’re willing to help”—she turns her attention to Luke—“I’ll ask you to stand on that side of the table and keep a steady hand on her. Now, is it okay if I unwrap this bandage and take a look?”
I nod and immediately turn my attention up to Luke. He’s gripping my right hand tightly as his thumb rubs softly back and forth. I focus on the warmth emanating from his touch. It’s a comfort, especially compared to the cold saline Dr. Davis uses to moisten the inner layers of my bandage before removing it.
“Hi,” Luke mouths.
“Hi,” I mouth back.
“You okay?”
I nod, even though there’s a tear slipping down my cheek.
“Am I hurting you?” Dr. Davis asks.
“No,” I reply, sounding like there’s a frog in my throat. I’m just a big baby.
“Good. Deep breaths.” I feel her shifting my hand right and left, inspecting my finger with gloved hands. “Can you flex it inward?”
I bend the finger in a cheeky Come hither motion to Luke before the pain makes me stop.
“So do you think you can, like…glue it?” I croak expectantly.
Her face twists with remorse. “I wish I could, but due to the location, this wound needs stitches. The good news is it’ll just be a few, and there shouldn’t be any noticeable scarring.
“All things considered, you’re lucky. If you’d nicked a tendon, it would’ve been straight to the E.R. for a hand surgeon referral. Those guys make the big bucks. Now, let’s get started.”
When we get home from the urgent care, I slip off my shoes and aim for the kitchen, intending to clean up the mess I made earlier both from prepping for lunch and from my injury, but Luke grips my shoulders and redirects me toward the couch in the family room.
“I can’t leave the kitchen like that!” I protest.
“Sit down.”
I sit.
“Lean back. Prop your feet up.”
I do both.
Then he gives Harper clear drill sergeant orders. “She’s not allowed to move. You’re on watch. Can I trust you?”
Harper salutes him. “On it, sir.”
“What if I need to use the restroom?” I tease as he heads for the kitchen.
“Harper will get you a cup.”
Harper and I burst out laughing. She grabs the remote and nestles down next to me, arranging a blanket over the two of us, careful to place it gently around my bandaged finger. “What should we watch?”
We settle on The Princess and the Frog since I’ve somehow never seen it.
Harper can barely believe it. “Her dress is beautiful! My favorite of all the Disney princesses!”
It doesn’t take long for Luke to clean. I keep peering over my shoulder to see how he’s getting on. In no time, the floors and counters are all wiped down, the dishes are loaded, and the kitchen looks good as new. After, he showers and puts on sweatpants and a t-shirt, returning just in time to catch the end of the movie.
He plops down in the seat on the other side of Harper and stretches his arm across the back of the couch so that if I leaned my head back, his fingers could stroke my hair.
I don’t do this, of course; I only think about it.
“Anything salvageable from earlier? For the burgers?”
It’s not quite dinner time yet, but with all of us having skipped lunch, I’m sure we’ll want to eat early.
He frowns and shakes his head. “I accidentally let the meat burn on the grill when I came in to check on you earlier, so that’s not an option. The cheese and everything out on the counter didn’t look great either. I wasn’t thinking before we left. I could have put it all in the fridge.”
“It’s no big deal. I could make that summer salad?”
“Let’s order takeout!” Harper suggests.
“You read my mind,” Luke tells her, already reaching for his phone.
“Chinese food?” they both say at the same time.
Luke smiles and Harper laughs, burrowing against her dad so he can wrap his arm around her.
Harper looks to me, explaining, “It’s our favorite. We usually eat it once a week, but you’ve been cooking such good food we haven’t had it in a while.”
I smile.
Harper relaxes against her dad, and they start scrolling down the restaurant’s menu. The intimacy of the moment suddenly hits me, and I realize this might be one step too far. After what happened the other night and this afternoon, I’m beginning to wonder if it’s even possible to delineate between work and real life while I’m living here with them. I try not to let the ease of the moment muddle my brain. I’m only sitting on the couch with Harper and Luke because I have an injured finger. I’m not part of their little family. I shouldn’t be sitting here with them at all, really.