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“‘What made you so shy of me, when you first called, and afterwards dined here?’”

She stirs, shifting on the bed.

I’ve never seen her move before.

“Willow?” I speak quietly. “Are you awake, Sleeping Beauty? Can you open your eyes, honey?”

She’s trying.

I'm no doctor but I can see it—see her—fighting the darkness, trying to make her way back to the light.

“You can do it,” I encourage. “Just open your eyes for me, and I’ll keep reading…” I don’t know why I say that, but it seems to work because?—

Jesus.

Cloudy blue eyes blink open.

Slowly.

She’s awake.

Confused, sleepy, and a little out of it, but her eyes are open and now they seem focused on me. The tiniest frown appears between her brows, as if she’s confused, and who can blame her? She doesn’t know me from Adam.

I lightly put my hand on hers.

“Hey, there. Welcome back. You’re in the hospital. You hit your head and have been in a coma for about a month, but everything is okay now.”

Her thumb twitches, rubbing against the side of my pointer finger.

“Let me get a nurse—” I begin.

“N-nnn…” It’s a hoarse, barely discernible whisper, but there’s no doubt in my mind she’s saying no.

“I’m not a doctor,” I explain. “I’m just a volunteer…reading to you. You need?—”

“P-plea…” She can’t quite get the word out, but she’s saying please.

Her heart rate just increased slightly—I can see it on the machine that’s been monitoring her vitals—and the last thing I want is to upset her.

“Okay. Let’s just sit here for a minute, so you can get your bearings. You want me to keep reading?”

There’s a nod. Tiny but effective.

So I do.

“‘Lady Catherine’s unjustifiable endeavors to separate us were the means of removing all my doubts…’”

Man, this might be the most romantic stuff I’ve ever heard. No wonder she likes it. It’s not my thing and yet I’m completely invested in the story and the characters. Not that I’ll ever admit it to anyone.

“‘I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice…’”

“Th-thank you,” she says when I finish and there’s a faint, faraway smile on her face.

“You’re welcome.” I close the book and put it down.

“Who…are… you?” Willow suddenly whispers.

“My name is Hudson. I broke my hip and got a concussion at work, so I’m a patient here too. I can’t sleep at night, and thought reading to you might be helpful. But I really should tell someone you’re awake. Your fiancé will be so happy to hear—” I say it as a test, to see how she reacts to mentioning Dylan, and the heart monitor immediately ticks up.