Which was exactly the kind of thing I shouldn’t be thinking about.
The stack of plates rattled as I dropped them on the table. A crack appeared in the top one.
Crap.
I was a single dad. I held a very demanding job. And now I had a woman living here that I owed the world to. My goal was to do everything I could to help her recover—but I needed to treat her like part of my job. In a professional, impersonal manner.
Any other feelings would threaten to disrupt the life I’d carefully built with my children, Raphael, and Flynn.
6
Alyssa
An incredible aroma filled the air when I woke the next morning. It smelled so good that for a moment, I didn’t even wonder where I was.
Then it all came back to me. I was at Spencer’s house. The rather masculine-looking bedroom confirmed that.
The curtains and quilt were dark, but otherwise, the room had a fairly modern feel to it. There were art prints on the wall and a few sparse decorations. It didn’t seem like a guest room, so I wondered if it belonged to Spencer or Raphael.
My back ached as I attempted to sit upright in bed. It felt like my injuries were designed to prevent me from any kind of normal movement. My leg was broken, okay, so that meant using my arms more. But my left wrist was still sprained. While it didn’t ache quite as much as the other spots, it sure hurt to push myself upright. And any movement jostled my cracked ribs.
But hell, I couldn’t keep sleeping the days away. And that meant sitting up. Finally, I figured out that by pushing really hard on the nightstand with my right arm, I could get into an upright position.
Of course, it left me exhausted—too tired to even adjust the pillows behind me. But at least I’d done it. And after a few minutes of panting from the exertion, I felt a bit better.
Noises came from the kitchen, and suddenly I was very eager to discover the source of that delicious scent. I glanced at my phone and saw that it was after nine. That probably meant that the twins and Spencer were gone—if he’d gone into work today. I hoped he had.
That must mean that it was Raphael who was in the kitchen. Should I just call out? I felt a bit foolish doing that, but I didn’t have his phone number, so I couldn’t text him. “Raphael?”
There was a rattle as something was set down, and then slow footsteps coming nearer. The person who eventually appeared in the doorway was definitely not Raphael.
“Good morning, dear. How do you feel?” The woman standing there looked like she’d answer a casting call for a grandmother type. She had gray curly hair and sloped shoulders, and wore a pale blue tracksuit and white sneakers. “I’m Nana.”
“Hi, um, Nana.” Lately, it felt like every time I woke up, there was another stranger there, watching over me.
“Well, my real name is Ruby, but everyone around here calls me Nana.” Her cheeks were pink, and her light blue eyes were warm and kind. “How are you feeling?”
“A bit stiff and sore.”
Nana came over to the bed. “That’s only natural. Our bodies are meant to move around at night, but that thing’s got you anchored down.” She gestured toward the outline of my heavy cast under the covers. “Let me get your meds. Raphael laid them all out already.”
She moved off at a slow speed, and while she was gone, I ran my fingers through my hair. The people I’d met in Lake Boise had been nothing but kind, but I was tired of encountering them while not looking my best. Or even close to my best.
Nana returned with some medicine on a saucer and a glass of water. I swallowed the pills and then downed most of the water. I hadn’t had a whole lot to eat or drink lately.
She took the glass from me and set it on the nightstand. “Are you hungry?”
“Very. Something smells amazing.”
The older woman looked pleased. “Ever had a Cajun scramble?”
“No, but I’d like to.” Automatically, I tried to swing my leg off the bed, but Nana was right, the stupid cast did feel like an anchor holding me down.
“No, you stay right there. Might as well have breakfast in bed while you can, right?”
She picked up something that had evidently been leaning against the wall on the other side of the nightstand. It was a smooth piece of wood, about eighteen inches wide and twice as long, with the wood curved at either end. She positioned it over my lap, where it formed a little table. “What would you like to drink with your breakfast?”
“Tea, please.”
“Sweet tea?” Nana asked, and I stifled a sigh. At some point, I was going to have to try that.