Page 46 of Dear Future Husband

“What happened?”

Mom didn’t look at me as she continued to chop. “You know how Maybelle’s story has been on the news?”

As much as I wished it wasn’t, I had seen a few articles trending, talking about the “girl who lived”.

Horrible Harry Potter reference.

Maybelle’s unique story of surviving the accident that not only killed her family—but put her in a coma for a year—had hit the local news a day or two after she woke up. Thankfully, since she wasn’t at her home, and no one knew who took her in. We hadn’t been harassed by any curious drama seekers here at the house.

I nodded. Mom stopped her cutting and turned her focus on me as she said, “Well, apparently a man came in, pretty adamant about seeing her. He was dressed all spiffy, wearing some high-end clothing, so the staff suspected he was just some elite journalist seeking out the story. But he was so intent on seeing her that he wouldn’t listen when they told him she wasn’t there. Bets said they eventually had to get security involved. I guess it was a super inconvenient mess.”

Straightening and pausing my work on the food, I asked, “Mom, is it safe for you to work there?”

She waved me down. “Of course. It all turned out perfectly fine. It was more bizarre than anything.”

“They need to get better security there. Random people shouldn’t be able to just walk in, demanding to see patients.”

Snorting, Mom quirked a knowing look at me. “Oh yeah, Mister IDemandToSeeMyGirl?”

“That’s not the same,” I returned, unamused.

She only smiled down at the meal she prepared. A beat of quiet and chopping against a cutting board passed between us before I cleared my throat. “How is she?”

“She didn’t have physical therapy today, so she’s only left her room for a sandwich I made at around noon. Other than that, I haven’t seen her.” Without looking at my mom I could hear the sadness in her tone.

“Should I go check on her?”

She shrugged. “Might as well. Maybe she’ll be hungry.”

I immediately wiped my hands on a towel and headed down the hall, straight to Maybelle’s room. I halted in front of her door, only allowing an instant of hesitation before I lightly knocked.

No response. She must be asleep.

I knocked again. No answer. I reached for the doorknob and opened the door. The bedroom door flung out at me, making me jump back as a blonde, hollering female rolled out into the hallway at my feet.

On the floor, on her back, was my Maybelle staring up at me wide-eyed with mirthful surprise.

“What the hell happened?” I demanded, crouching over her.

I swooped a hand under her neck and helped her sit up. She didn’t seem injured, but she was hot to the touch, her cheeks red and her skin damp with sweat, like she just got done with a long jog.

Maybelle’s astonishment turned beaming as she cackled. “Well, whatever happened to knocking? I was leaning up against the door when you opened it and sent me tumbling.”

I wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her up to her feet.

“I did knock,” I defended.

She sniffed. “Not loud enough.”

Pulling from my arms, she stood herself up against the wall behind her. She was standing by herself. I gave her a once over, noticing the white crew socks, black leggings that were painted to her legs, stopped at her ankles and the tight V-neck, long sleeve, blue-gray top that darkened in areas from perspiration. Her face was pink, and her long curls were pulled back into a high ponytail.

She looked so alive—and good… Really good.

I peered over her shoulder. Her room looked like a tornado had gone through it. Her cabinet of books had fallen to the ground, spilling out novels, and her bed was a disaster of sheets and pillows.

“What are you doing in there?”

Maybelle followed my gaze to see the destruction. She grimaced, then twisted back to face me. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it all up.”