He smiles but sticks to business, watching my eyes as he holds up his pointer finger in the center of my line of sight.
揊ollow my finger.?
He moves his hand left, then right, checking for signs of a concussion as my eyes track the movements.
揋ood. Are you seeing two of me??he asks. 搾Cause that would be pretty awesome.?
揌ar-har. You抮e funny today.?
He lifts one broad shoulder. 揑 try.?
Connor snaps his gloves off, tosses them in the waste bucket, and moves to the sink to wash his hands.
揕isten, Vi梐bout what Garrett said in the cafeteria . . . it抯 okay if you want to back out on the wedding. It抯 not a big deal.?
It feels like I walked into the wall again. But harder this time.
Worse.
I抦 glad his back is to me. Glad he can抰 see me. I don抰 think I抎 be able to hide the crush of disappointment that抯 on my face right now.
By the time he does turn around, drying his hands with a paper towel, my expression is blank and emotionless. It抯 a countenance I抳e perfected when speaking to the family of patients who we know aren抰 going to make it.
揇on抰 feel like you have to go with me just because we told them we would.?
He抯 smiling at me as he says it. Like I should be pleased. Like he抯 doing me a favor.
And it pisses me off.
揜ight.?I nod sharply. 揑 see how it is.?
He抯 confused by my response. Or bothered梠r both.
揥ait a second. What do you see??
揧ou were just being polite梠f course you were.?
Stupid hopes, stupid dreams. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
揑 didn抰 say that.?
揟hen what are you saying??
揑抦 saying I don抰 want you to be uncomfortable. Or feel . . . pressured to go to the wedding with me because of my brother and Dean.?
I uncross the arms I hadn抰 even realized I抎 crossed條ifting them out on my sides.
揓esus, Connor, I抦 not some wilting flower.?
揑 know that.?
揇o you??I snap. 揑 have a mouth, you know.?
揟rust me,?now he抯 snapping too. 揑抦 keenly aware.?
揑 can speak my mind if something is bothering me.?
揑 know you can, Violet. I . . . I like that about you.?
揂nd it抯 just a wedding. We might actually have fun together, did you ever think of that? And . . . and I happen to be a fantastic dancer.?
Connor watches me for a moment, not saying anything. And then he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck梩hat gentle, teasing tone slipping back into his words.
揑抣l believe that when I see it.?
揓ust keep any sharp objects or scalding liquid ten feet away from me at all times and we should be fine.?
The left corner of his mouth lifts. And somehow it抯 beautiful. He抯 so beautiful.
揥as already planning on it.?
揙kay, then.?
揋ood.?
揋reat.?
His voice goes fainter梐 feather-brush whisper I抣l hear in my dreams tonight.
揋ood.?
Then he gives me his hand and helps me down from the gurney.
揑 want you to head home now. Take the rest of the day off.?
My face is too sore to roll my eyes, so I infuse my voice with gooey eye-rolling goodness.
揅onnor, I抦 fine.?
揑t wasn抰 a suggestion, Violet. You抳e got four stitches in your head.?
揂nd no concussion,?I counter.
揃ut I bet it hurts like a bitch.?
I open my mouth to argue梐nd then close it. Because it does hurt like a bitch. And because it feels good . . . to have someone looking out for me. Concerned about me.
To have him concerned about me.
I抳e never had that before.
揇on抰 make me bring Stella into this,?Connor warns lightly. 揝he scares me.?
Stella Brine is the head nurse of the Emergency Department. She抯 a no-bullshit, effective, steel spine of a woman條ike a nonpsychotic, less brutal version of Aunt Lydia from The Handmaid抯 Tale. Navy SEAL drill instructors would acquiesce to her.
揝tella scares all of us. I think it抯 in her job description.?
揜ight.?He grins. 揂nd you know the drill with the stitches梩he wound will heal fully in seven to ten days, the stiches will fall out on their own. Until then . . . it抯 too bad it抯 not closer to Halloween梱ou抎 make an awesome Frankenstein.?
揥ell, it抯 only May梩here抯 plenty of time. God only knows what the fall will bring.?
He laughs again梐 deep, lovely rumble from his chest. A chest I might feel under my cheek next weekend if we dance.
On. Our. DATE.
揟ake it easy today, okay??
揧eah, I will. I抣l probably just take a nap. Or maybe a bath.?
He glances toward the wall, his eyes sort of glazing over a little.
揅onnor??
He lifts his head, shaking it. 揝orry. I got distracted thinking about . . . something.?He clears his throat. 揗ake sure to keep those stitches dry when you抮e in your . . . bubble bath.?
I never mentioned bubbles梑ut now that he抯 mentioned it, the thought is enticing. A long, warm, luxurious soak in some creamy suds with my favorite pear-scented candles lit all around me and Dionne Warwick singing on my record player is exactly what the doctor ordered.
Literally.
Connor glances at a message on his phone and gestures toward the door. 揑抳e gotta get out on the floor.?
揙kay, I抦 heading home now. Bye, Connor.?
Before he heads for the door, he moves to me梒lose and sudden and so near I can feel the heat radiating off him. Then he offers me his phone.
揇o you want to give me your number now??A new contact page is pulled up with my name on it. 揝o I can text you about the wedding stuff??
揧es! Right, of course.?
I add my number, save that bad boy, and hand the phone back. Connor taps the screen for a moment.
揑 just sent you a text, so you have my number too. If you need it.?
And then he puts his hand on my right shoulder, giving it a gentle, quick squeeze.
揃ye, Violet. Take care.?
He turns around and walks out so quickly that by the time I answer, the door is already swinging closed behind him.
揑 will,?I say to an empty room.
It抯 not a big deal. Connor is a friendly guy, a confident guy. Easily affectionate桰抳e seen him hug some of the other nurses梠n birthdays or when a family member passes or new babies arrive.
It probably doesn抰 mean anything and that抯 totally okay.
Still . . . I press my hand to my shoulder, covering the spot Connor touched that抯 still warm and tingling. And that抯 when I decide that cracking my head open like a melon and looking like a moron doing it?
Totally worth it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Connor
You抎 make an awesome Frankenstein???
It抯 a weird feeling walking around wanting to punch yourself in the face.
But that抯 exactly how I抳e felt all week梕very time I think about the stellar compliment I gave Violet the last time I saw her.
Frankenstein . . .
Dumbass.
Vi and I aren抰 on the same schedule at work for the next few days, so I kept checking my phone, figuring once the full realization of my idiocy sunk in, she抎 send a polite but uncomfortable text message bailing on the wedding.
But the text never came.
So here I am.
Outside her quaint, stone, hobbit-cottage of a house梬hich was the servants?quarters back when this property was owned by the first mayor of Lakeside梬earing my gray suit and burgundy tie, to pick her up for Dean and Lainey抯 big day. The sound of my truck door closing bounces off the lake beside her house and echoes in the air. I straighten my jacket and rub my palms on the sides of my pants. Because . . . I抦 nervous.
And I don抰 get nervous. I don抰 really know why I am now. It抯 just a wedding, like Violet said梛ust two coworkers and semi-friends going together for the sake of convenience and seating arrangements. It shouldn抰 be a big deal.