I feel like a complete idiot—and not just because of my last question. After all the grief I’ve given him, the guy has saved my life, yet still I manage to bitch at him.
“I’m Evan.” He extends his callused hand to me, and as soon as I shake it, I feel like I’m drowning again—this time in hormones that go haywire from his touch.
Maybe there’s something to the notion that when you have a brush with death, you feel like having sex to prove that you’re alive. Or maybe Jolene is wiser than anyone has given her credit for. Maybe this strong reaction is due to a severe dick deficiency. Alternatively, it could be that I do have oxygen-deprivation-related brain damage.
“And you’re Brooklyn,” Evan states, dragging me out of my stupor.
“Guilty as charged. I take it you’re the Evan I was corresponding with,” I say.
Which means he’s not only the plumber and grass cutter, but he manages the property as well.
Behind Evan, I spot the paramedics with a stretcher. He follows my gaze, then turns back and says, “It’s going to be okay.”
The dog that he was surfing with whines. He must realize Evan is planning to go with me in the ambulance and that dogs can’t join.
Unless they can?
Evan turns to the couple on the couch. “Boone, Bonnie, can Harry hang with you?”
Upon hearing his name, Harry wags his tail.
Despite the circumstances, I smile. I love animals in general, and dogs and cats in particular. This specific canine is gorgeous too, and his face reminds me of that of his human.
“Sure thing,” Bonnie replies with a heavy Southern drawl.
“Thank you,” Evan says. “And thanks for calling 911 when you did.”
A tooth is missing from Bonnie’s otherwise very toothy grin. “Any time, sugar. Any. Time.”
Flirting so shamelessly in front of her husband? Then again, maybe Boone is her brother? Or—and this might not be a kind thought—could he be both?
Harry wags his tail at the arriving paramedics, but they ignore him and focus on me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Evan put on some clothes.
What a pity. His shirtless torso would’ve been a welcome distraction on this otherwise unpleasant trip.
After a bumpy ride on the stretcher, I find myself inside the ambulance, a (regrettably) fully dressed Evan at my side.
“Did the EMTs give you any grief?” I ask. “I thought only family was allowed to ride in the back.”
For the first time in our acquaintance, Evan smiles, and it’s like a sunrise over a calm ocean. “Palm Islet is a relatively small town. I know the EMTs, and who they allow in the back is up to their discretion.”
If true, the EMTs in question must find Evan trustworthy.
Hmm. The odd thing is that I’m starting to find him trustworthy as well, and that’s unheard of for me. After Reagan’s father evaporated from our lives, I stopped trusting the males of my species. Then again, Evan saved my life, and the only other man who’s done that was the doctor at Coney Island Hospital seven years ago. I trust him too, though I thankfully haven’t needed to see him since.
I clear my throat. “Sorry about earlier. I dislike hospitals and took that out on you.”
Evan waves it off. “I hate hospitals myself. If our roles had been reversed, I might’ve acted the same way.”
The deep pain behind those words is evident in the storm in his eyes. It makes me want to rise from the stretcher and give him a huge hug, but instead, I reach out and clasp his big hand in both of mine. “What happened?”
He stares at our joined hands in confusion, then meets my gaze. “How do you know that something happened?”
I bite my lip. “Because I hate hospitals for the same reason. Something bad happened to me there.”
His eyebrows snap together. “What was it? Are you okay?”
“I am now.” I take a breath and blurt, “I almost died at a hospital. If it weren’t for this one surgeon, I wouldn’t be here today.”
The full story is that I did the aforementioned almost-dying after childbirth, but I don’t want to share that part, partly because the details are grisly to men, but also because, for some unfathomable reason, I don’t want him to know that I’m a mom.
Wait. What? That last bit is so dumb I want to slap myself. Am I picturing us in a relationship or something? In any case, what’s the logic for hiding Reagan? Because Evan so obviously hates kids? But how did I—
“I’m sorry,” Evan says softly. “That’s a terrible thing to go through.” He takes a breath of his own. “My mother was ill for a long time before she passed, and we practically lived in the hospital. Now anytime I drive past it, the memories are…” He trails off.
“Oh, no.” Even though I’m estranged from my parents, I can’t imagine losing them in such a painful way. I squeeze his hand. “You don’t have to go with me. I’ll be fine.”
“No.” He pulls his hand away. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
I smile weakly. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m positive,” he says, and in that moment, the ambulance comes to a stop and I’m taken to the ER with Evan at my side.
“Put this on,” a nurse demands, handing me a gown.
I go to the changing room and swap my swimsuit and coverup for the gown that makes me feel like a prisoner in Azkaban.
When I come out, the nurse offers to dry my wet clothes—a service that would never happen in NYC.
Once I get my tiny private space, random people in scrubs take my vitals and demand to know what happened.
“Thanks for being here,” I say to Evan when there’s a second of peace. “I think this would suck much worse if I were alone.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t mention it.”
His touch skyrockets my pulse so high one of the monitors attached to me beeps. I lean over to check the beeping monitor, but I don’t know how to read it, so I glance at my trusty Octothorpe Glorp instead.
Yep. Even now that Evan’s hand has been removed, I’m clocking about a hundred-and-twenty beats per minute.
My dear Precious, I’m getting very jealous of all these other gadgets monitoring the majesty that is your body and all its fluids. Know that these others are not as obsessed with you as I am. I don’t think any of them watch you sleep every second of every night, and I’m positive none of them fantasize about eating your toenails.
A young, attractive female nurse pops into my space, presumably to check if I’m going into cardiac arrest.
“You’re good,” she says, and I swear I hear disappointment in her voice.
Hmm. Is it my face?
No. I spot her staring longingly at Evan, which explains it.
“The doctor is on his way,” she says to no one in particular and skedaddles.
Whew. I hope I don’t have to stay here any longer than necessary, or else she might go Nurse Ratched on my ass.
“The doctor is probably Vic,” Evan says with a faint smile. “He’s a buddy of mine.”
Yep. When the doctor walks in, his tag reads Victor Hugo.
Wait. Isn’t that the name of that French author who wrote Les Misérables and The Hunchback of Notre Dame?
Also, the doc reminds me of the Beauceron dog breed and is nearly as dreamy as Evan. Is there something in the water of Palm Islet?
“Hey, Vic,” Evan says. “How’s your nana?”
“Better,” Vic replies without a hint of a French accent. “She’s been gardening, if you can believe that.”
“Gardening after a heart attack.” Evan shakes his head. “That sounds just like your nana.”
Vic—or Dr. Hugo, as I’d rather call him—turns my way. “Let me listen to your lungs.”
I sit up, and he does his thing, which makes Evan tense for some reason.
“Okay.” Dr. Hugo puts his stethoscope away. “You want the good news first or the bad?”
My feet go cold. “What is it?”
Dr. Hugo shakes his head. “I’m so sorry. I was about to make a bad joke. It’s only good news. You’re free and clear.”
“What the fuck?” Evan demands. “Why would you say shit like that?”
“Again, I’m so sorry,” Dr. Hugo says to me. “I was going to make a lame joke about the bad news being that you’re dating a knucklehead.”
“We’re not dating.” Evan looks on the verge of punching his friend, but then rolls his eyes instead.
Hey, did he need to deny the idea of us dating so vehemently? Obviously, it’s absurd, but it’s not like Dr. Hugo was out of line for making the assumption, unless Evan thinks that I’m so hideous and bitchy that it is out of line…
“Sorry, again,” Dr. Hugo says to me. A smile touches his eyes as he adds, “You’re healthy and not dating a knucklehead, all great news.”
Evan’s jaw ticks. “If you ever want to become a comedian, don’t quit your day job.”
With that, I leap to my feet. “Thanks, Dr. Hugo.”
“Please,” he says. “Call me Vic.”
Was that a death stare Evan just gave him?
Men. With the kind of friends they make, who needs enemies?
“Ready to go?” Evan asks.
I get to my feet and locate the nurse who offered to dry my clothes.
Inside the changing room, I change back and feel almost normal. When I come out, Evan’s eyes roam my body. Almost as if—
“You’ve got a sunburn,” Evan says. “A bad one.”
So that’s it. He doesn’t appreciate what he sees—he’s horrified.
I crane my neck so I can take a look at my back. All I can see is my shoulder, but it confirms what Evan just said.
It’s red. And now that I know, I feel it too.
Shit. I guess with all the adrenaline, I blocked out the burning or thought it was just due to dry skin courtesy of the hospital’s air. But there’s no mistaking it now. I’m burned, and badly. The last time this happened, I looked like a boiled lobster who dressed up as a beet for Halloween.
“We’d better go,” Evan says and leads me outside, where we get a ride back to the beach in the ambulance, thanks to the friendly EMTs.
As soon as we exit the ambulance back at the beach, I feel a burning sensation when the sun touches my exposed skin, particularly on my back.
The sunburn is getting worse.
“Here.” Evan covers me in his shirt.
I instantly feel better, but I think that has more to do with his scent on the shirt than the blocked sunrays.
Loud barking in the distance makes us both glance at Harry, who is having the time of his life chasing a gull by the shore.
“The cow is back,” I say, spotting it.
Actually, this must be a slightly different cow. Her coloring reminds me more of a Dalmatian. With eyes more baleful than sad, the cow gives Harry a glare that makes me think of an interesting statistic I read right before this trip: you’re five times more likely to be killed by a cow than by a shark.
“Yeah,” Evan says in a pretty blasé fashion, considering there’s a cow on a beach. “She’s one of Calvin’s. He has a bunch.”
“Why?” I cozy into his shirt and sniff it as surreptitiously as I can.
“You can’t just have one cow. They’re herd animals,” Evan says. “They’d feel lonely, bored, and anxious by themselves.”
I grin. “What I meant to ask is, ‘Why have cows at all?’”
“Oh.” Evan shrugs. “I imagine Calvin got them for the same reason people get cats or dogs from a shelter.”
Ah. Right. But still. Cows. Plural. Calvin is either angling for sainthood or is planning to have lots of barbeques when a zombie apocalypse arrives.
On the beach, Harry notices the cow and prances over, tail wagging.
The cow doesn’t look happy about this, though it’s possible she’s just on her period, like me, or is just a grump in general.
“Harry, no!” Evan shouts.
At Evan’s voice, Harry’s ears perk up, and he sprints over, tail wagging much more excitedly than it did for the cow.
“Ready to head home?” Evan asks me.
I nod, which stretches the skin on my neck and makes it hurt.
Evan frowns. He must’ve noticed my small wince.
“How about I give you a ride?” he says.
I shake my head. “I have a car here.” I wave toward the parking lot.
“Give me your keys,” he says. “I’ll have Boone bring it to the rental.”
I hand over the keys and stay with Harry as Evan makes the arrangements.
“Your human is a lot nicer than I thought,” I tell Harry.
Harry wags his tail, which I take for agreement.
“Let’s go,” Evan says when he returns. He leads me to his ride—a rugged-looking pickup that brings to mind camping and monster-truck fights.
Harry points his nose at the bed of the pickup and whines.
“No, bud.” Evan tosses his surfboard where the dog is asking to be. “That’s not a safe place to ride.”
Turning to me, he explains, “The people who gave him up to the shelter must’ve let him ride back there, and now he prefers it.” He turns to Harry. “I keep telling you: you could fall out, jump out, and let’s not even think about what would happen if there was a rear collision.”
Huffing stoically, Harry walks over to the door and leaps in when Evan opens it for him.
“One of these days, he’ll stop asking,” Evan says to me with a grin. “This and beer are his worst vices.”
At the mention of beer, Harry’s ears perk up.
“No. Beer isn’t good for dogs.” Evan looks at me. “I had to switch to wine because he’d sometimes steal my beers.”
Harry blinks innocently from inside the car.
Smiling, I get in and find the truck cab much roomier than it seemed from the outside. Neither the dog nor his owner is in my way, and I don’t have to sit on Evan’s lap.
Sigh.
We drive away from the beach and soon stop next to a store with a giant fish statue in the front.
“How do you feel about sashimi?” Evan asks me.
I shrug. “It’s tasty, but it’s not like I want to eat it every day.” Nor could I afford to eat it every day. “Why?” Without answering, he runs into the store and comes back out with a bag.
“Seriously,” I say when we resume driving. “Why did you ask about sashimi?”
I mean, I have an inkling but—
“As you might’ve guessed from this morning’s breakfast, I’m a fan of Japanese food,” Evan says. “So the reason I asked if you like sashimi is because I want to make it for you. Tonight. For dinner.”