Page 23 of Distant Shores (Stapled Magnolias #2)
IRELAND
I t was clear that both Dad and Wilbur needed to rest, so when Wilbur stood shakily from the table and asked Dad if he was ready to go, I was relieved.
“We’ll follow you up.” Adair stood up from his chair, then seemed to catch what he’d implied, looking my way with an apology. “Sorry, I mean, if that’s good with you?”
“It is,” I said, scooching my chair backward.
He braced one arm on the back of his vacated chair and bent forward, reaching toward my longboard. And again, I was caught in the trance that was his flexing muscles. His baggy shirt fluttered away from his body as he scooped my board up and handed it to me.
“Here ya go,” he said with a smile, and I forced my eyes to his.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “For everything.”
“I didn’t do anything. But… do me a favor?” His gaze raked over me, assessing and still so gentle. “Let me drive you back to the house after this? You look beat, Ireland.”
Another pathetic thump of my heart even as I wanted to refuse. But he’d phrased it like a question, and that did something to me.
Plus, the way my vision was getting spotty and the impending adrenaline crash, lack of sleep, and water— God, when did I last have any?—it would be dumb to refuse.
“Okay.”
He looked surprised for a split second before smiling softly. “Okay.”
We headed out of the cafeteria as a unit, Wilbur and Dad in front. I glanced back as we entered the hallway and frowned. “Where’s your sister?”
Adair tugged his phone from his pocket, unlocked it, then handed it over.
I took it automatically, frowning as I read the messages.
Delly
Let me know when Mr. Sewell is feeling better
That cafeteria food was shockingly good
That was a mind blown emoji, not like, toilet
I’m going to go see if my supervisor is on duty and ask some questions about work
Don’t worry about driving me back, I’m going exploring after this
It was truly incredible how Adeline Jacks had the exact same energy via text that she did in person.
“Wow,” I said, about to hand the phone back, but then it vibrated. “She’s texting you again,” I explained, holding it out to him, but he didn’t take it.
We all stepped into the elevator that had just arrived, and he reached over, his finger hovering above the “3” button. He looked over his shoulder at me and raised his eyebrows with an implied question.
I snorted, then shook my head in answer, and he smiled as he pushed it.
“What’d my sister say?” he asked when the doors closed.
Dad and Wilbur weren’t paying us any attention, both of them looking at the LED floor display above the doors like it was an actual TV.
I looked back down at the phone. “Well, there’s two now. You really want me to read them?”
“Please do.”
“Okay, then. The first says, ‘Please text to confirm that you’ve gotten these and aren’t gonna come looking for me.’”
He nodded.
“Want me to text her back?”
“Nah, I’ll do that when we get to the apartment.”
“All right. The next says, ‘If you do, I won’t help you coordinate your closet.’”
A yawn overtook me as I read that one, extending the word ‘closet.’
Dad looked back at me with a furrowed brow, but then faced forward when the elevator dinged, and the doors opened.
We stepped out onto the third floor, and the phone vibrated again.
“Oh, here’s a fresh one. It says ‘IMAGINE’—in all caps, by the way—‘how silly you would look in front of?—’”
Adair plucked the phone from my hand, smiling sheepishly. “I better text her back. That’s a, umm, serious threat.” His eyes flicked over the rest of the message I didn’t get to finish, his cheeks pinkening as he read.
The nurse on duty waved at us, then typed away on her keyboard, no doubt logging the whereabouts of Dad and Wilbur for their records.
“Why does she need to help with your closet?” I fought against another yawn so badly that my jaw popped.
“I’m colorblind,” Adair said, holding the apartment door open for me. “Red-green. It wasn’t until Delly was old enough to question my inability to match clothes that I took the test and found out.”
“Huh,” I said as I passed by him, unable to conjure a better response.
“Right?” he said kindly, that chin dimple on display.
It was almost the exact size of my thumbnail, I mused, but I had small-ish hands.
Hello, delirium.
The door closed behind us, and Adair brushed up against my back. I jolted, then mumbled an apology as I stepped to the side and gave him room to go by.
Hello, mortification.
I dropped my board by the couch, then quickly got Dad washed up and settled for a nap. He didn’t say a word as we went through the motions. With a soft tug, I closed the curtains just enough to dim the space, but not too much so he wouldn’t be confused about the time of day when he woke up.
“I’ll see you later, Dad,” I said, brushing a kiss on his cheek.
“Happy Birthday, Dancing Queen,” he mumbled into his pillow, and my heart squeezed.
There was no way to tell if he was saying that to the me of now or of memory, but I treasured it all the same.
I closed the door softly behind me and leaned against it, shutting my eyes.
When I gathered the strength to open them, Adair was there, his back to Wilbur’s door, mirroring me .
My heart skipped in a duet with my swooping stomach as we stayed like that, gazes fixed on each other across the apartment. His green eyes were so soft, so terrifyingly soft, and when I couldn’t take even that weight anymore, I looked down.
Muffled, uneven steps marked his approach, and his booted and unbooted feet came to a stop in front of my Chucks.
“Where’d you get the boot?” I whispered.
“Ran into Nurse Emily on the way to the cafeteria. She helped me out.”
“There goes her fruit basket,” I muttered.
“What?”
I looked up at him and shrugged. “Shall we?”
He studied me for a moment, a bemused look on his face as he held his arm out toward the door and stepped back. “After you.”
The ride down to the first floor was silent, and when we made it to the front lobby, Adair tugged on my arm that wasn’t holding my board, pulling me to a stop. “I’ll be right back.”
I nodded and leaned back against the reception desk, unashamedly watching him go.
It was still jarring to see him move without his crutch, and I wondered what he would be like once he was fully healed.
How he would move through the world, if it would change him at all.
As he disappeared down the hall with his uneven gait, I searched my tired memory for the longest lasting foot or ankle injury I’d experienced over my years of dance.
Fractures and sprains weren’t uncommon, but the worst of them took weeks of immobilization to heal, if not surgery.
Adair was definitely not immobile .
He appeared in the hallway again a few moments later with a white plastic bag dangling from his hand.
I stifled another yawn as we made for the exit.
When we got to the parking lot, his hand came to rest lightly on the small of my back, guiding me to the passenger side of his Jeep.
He opened the door for me, and I think under normal circumstances, I would’ve anticipated the move and hurried ahead to open the door first, deflecting it.
But here I was, stowing my board in the back of the Jeep and hoisting myself right on in.
Or trying to.
I didn’t give it quite the momentum the movement called for, and Adair chuckled as he pushed lightly on my lower back in that same damn place, giving me a boost up and into the seat.
I pointedly kept my attention fixed on fastening my seatbelt as he closed the door and went around the hood to the driver’s side.
We spoke nine words on the short drive back to the house.
Only one of them came from my mouth.
“Ducks?” I asked, gesturing to the dashboard.
He cranked the engine and rolled the windows down, the drive not nearly long enough for A/C to cool the interior before reaching the house.
“Sometimes it’s just easier to lean into things,” he said seriously.
Our hair blew wildly even at less than thirty miles per hour as we made the short drive back to the house.
The street was quiet when we pulled up to 317 Camellia Lane, and I wondered if that was why the flower had been on my mind.
I’d just swung my legs out the side of the open door when Adair made it to my side of the Jeep, carrying that plastic bag.
He frowned in disapproval, but then offered me his free hand.
I considered arguing about the wisdom of it. If I fell, wouldn’t it be smarter for me to fall alone rather than taking an injured man down with me?
We’d already played this game, but in the end, I took his hand.
He guided me down onto the driveway without a word, his warm palm cradling my hand. Once I was on solid ground, he let go and opened the back door and grabbed my board.
“Are you always this considerate?” I asked bluntly. Suspiciously.
He raised his eyebrows at me as he handed me the board for the second time today.
“No,” he said hesitantly, but then his gaze flicked to the street behind me, and his lips quirked up. “Sometimes I stand in the middle of the road like a moron and make unsuspecting, beautiful women crash.”
Well.
I—
Well.