Page 2 of Love Takes A Tumble (Midlife Meet Cute #3)

Chapter Two

The screen door of the Pelican Inn squeaked as Harrison pushed it open, helping Audrey hop over the threshold. His arm was steady around her waist, bearing most of her weight as she grimaced with each careful step.

Elise Bray-Oswald looked up from the reception desk, her expression shifting rapidly from welcome to concern. "What happened?" She hurried around the desk, dark curls bouncing, her quick eyes taking in Audrey's swollen ankle.

"Someone had a disagreement with a piece of driftwood," Harrison said. "Ankle's pretty bad."

"I'm perfectly fine," Audrey insisted, her cheeks flushed. "Just a minor sprain. Mr. Tate was kind enough to help me back, but I can manage from here."

Jacob emerged from the dining room, dish towel still in hand. His eyebrows rose at the sight of them. "Rescue squad reporting for duty, I see."

Harrison shot him a warning look. "She needs ice and elevation."

"The sofa in the parlor," Elise interrupted, already moving to lead the way. "I'll get ice and the first aid kit."

The parlor was bathed in morning light as Harrison helped Audrey to the plush sofa. She immediately arranged herself into what she clearly hoped was a dignified position.

"Thank you," she said stiffly. "I appreciate the assistance, but really, there's no need for all this fuss."

"Harry seems to have a knack for finding problems to solve," Jacob said with a good-natured smile. "Noticed him fixing that loose garden gate just this morning."

Harrison felt heat creep up his neck. "The latch was loose. Took all of five minutes."

Elise returned with supplies and knelt to examine Audrey's ankle. "Let me see that."

"I told her it's not broken," Harrison offered. "Just a nasty sprain."

"And when did you get your medical degree, Harry?" Jacob's tone was light, teasing.

Audrey's eyes met Harrison's briefly, something unspoken passing between them. Recognition of what it meant to have your identity tied to what you did rather than who you were.

"Well, I'm grateful for the rescue," she said, her voice softer than before. "Though I still maintain I could have managed."

"Of course you could have," Elise agreed, placing the ice pack over the injury. "But why should you have to? Keep this elevated. Jacob, pillows?"

As Jacob disappeared to fetch them, Elise's gaze moved between Harrison and Audrey, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "So you two met on the beach this morning?"

"Literally ran into each other," Harrison said, then at Audrey's sharp look added, "Well, she ran into the driftwood. I just happened to be passing by."

"With perfect timing," Elise noted. "Our Harry does have a knack for being in the right place."

"Not your Harry," he corrected automatically. "Just passing through, remember?"

Something flickered in Elise's eyes that Harrison couldn't quite read, but her smile remained warm.

"I have work to do," Audrey protested. "My manuscript—"

"Would you like me to bring your laptop down?" Elise offered. "You really should keep that ankle elevated for a while."

"I can get it," Harrison found himself saying. Audrey looked at him in surprise, and he added, "If you'd like. Just tell me what you need and where to find it."

She studied him for a moment. "My laptop. And the blue folder on the desk."

"I'll show you to Ms. Whitaker's room," Elise said, rising from her knees. To Audrey, she added, "If that's alright with you?"

Audrey nodded, looking slightly flustered. "Yes, thank you. That would be helpful."

As Harrison followed Elise toward the stairs, he heard Jacob's low chuckle. "Resident knight in shining armor."

He rolled his eyes. So he liked to help. Was that such a bad thing? It gave him something to do beyond staring at the ocean and wondering what in the world he was supposed to do with the rest of his life.

But as he climbed the stairs, he couldn't help remembering the warmth of Audrey against his side and the way her indignation had gradually softened into reluctant acceptance. There was something compelling about her stubborn independence.

He recognized it all too well. It was like looking in a mirror.

Harrison returned to the parlor with Audrey's laptop and folder to find her already scribbling notes on a legal pad, her injured foot elevated on the pillows Jacob had provided. The morning sun streamed through the windows, catching the silver threads in her chestnut hair.

"Special delivery," he said, setting the items carefully on the coffee table beside her.

She glanced up, a flicker of surprise crossing her features as if she hadn't expected him to actually return. "Thank you. You really didn't have to."

"No trouble." He hesitated, noticing how she winced slightly as she shifted position. "How's the ankle?"

"Fine." The word came automatically, her attention already drifting back to her notes.

Harrison should have taken the hint. Should have nodded politely and walked away. Instead, he found himself lingering, moving to straighten a stack of magazines on a nearby table. "Working on your novel?"

Audrey's pen paused mid-sentence. "Yes."

"What's it about?"

She gave him a long look, as if trying to determine whether his interest was genuine. "A woman who inherits an old lighthouse. She discovers journals from the former keeper that reveal a century-old mystery." A pause. "It's still taking shape."

"Sounds interesting." He meant it. "I always liked lighthouses."

The corners of her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile but close. "They're good metaphors. Solitary, steadfast. Warning others of danger."

Something in her tone made him wonder if she saw herself that way too. Before he could respond, she shifted again, and this time couldn't hide her grimace of pain.

"That ankle's getting worse," he observed, noticing the swelling had increased despite the ice. "You should have it checked out."

"It's just a sprain."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Harrison studied her, recognizing the stubborn set of her jaw. "There's a clinic in town. I could drive you. Twenty minutes, tops."

"I have work to do."

"Your novel will still be there after you've taken care of yourself."

She glanced up sharply. "You sound like Elise."

"She’s a smart woman."

Audrey sighed, setting her pen down. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm perfectly capable of managing a minor injury."

"Never said you weren't capable." He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Just offering a ride."

She studied him for a long moment. "Why?"

The question caught him off guard. "Why what?"

"Why are you so determined to help? You don't know me."

Harrison considered this. "Force of habit, I guess," he said finally. "I spent thirty years making sure people were okay. Hard to turn that off."

Something in her expression softened. "Your firefighter instincts."

"Something like that."

Silence stretched between them, oddly comfortable. Then Audrey set her laptop aside and began to push herself up. "Fine. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to—" Her sentence cut off with a sharp intake of breath as her injured foot touched the floor. She swayed dangerously.

Harrison was beside her in an instant, his arm around her waist, steadying her. "Easy there."

Her hand gripped his forearm, fingers surprisingly strong. For a moment, they stood frozen, her warmth against his side, the scent of her shampoo—something herbal and clean—filling his senses.

"Maybe," she said carefully, "a professional opinion would be wise."

Harrison bit back a smile at her grudging concession. "I'll get the truck."

Twenty minutes later, they sat in the waiting room of Palmar Island Medical Clinic, a small but tidy facility just off Main Street. Audrey perched on the edge of her chair, hands folded in her lap, the picture of contained dignity despite having been carried to and from his truck.

"Thanks for the ride," she said, breaking the silence. "I'm sure you had other plans for your morning."

"Nothing that can't wait." The truth was, he'd had no plans at all. Just another day of aimless wandering, trying to figure out what came next.

"Still. I appreciate it."

The nurse called Audrey's name before he could respond. Without thinking, Harrison rose to help her, but Audrey held up a hand.

"I can manage the ten feet to the exam room," she said, though there was more humor than bite in her tone. "Perhaps you could wait? For the ride back?"

"I'll be right here."

He watched her hobble carefully after the nurse, refusing the offered wheelchair with a polite but firm shake of her head. Stubborn woman. He couldn't help but admire her determination, even as he shook his head at the unnecessary struggle.

The dated magazines in the waiting room held little appeal, so Harrison found himself contemplating the ceiling tiles, the worn carpet, the bulletin board covered with community flyers.

Anywhere but his own thoughts, which kept circling back to the same unanswerable questions.

What did he have to offer anymore? What was the point of experience and skills that no one needed?

Thirty minutes later, Audrey emerged, a prescription in one hand and her pride visibly intact.

"Just a sprain," she announced. "Nothing broken."

"Good news." He stood, offering his arm. "What's the treatment plan?"

"Rest, ice, elevation. The usual." She hesitated before taking his arm. "And an Ace bandage, which the nurse assures me is the height of fashion this season."

Harrison smiled at the unexpected touch of humor. "Did she recommend crutches?"

"She did." Audrey gestured to a pair of adjustable aluminum crutches sitting by the checkout counter. "Insisted, actually. Said I need to stay off it for at least a couple of days."

"Smart woman, that nurse."

Audrey shot him a look that was half irritation, half something warmer. "I suppose I should thank you for insisting I get it checked."

"Just doing my job." At her raised eyebrow, he added, "Well, my former job. Old habits."

The drive back to the inn passed in comfortable silence.

Harrison found himself stealing glances at her profile.

The slight furrow between her brows, the graceful line of her neck, the way she absently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

There was something compelling about her quiet dignity, her insistence on managing alone.

Maybe because he recognized the same impulse in himself.

As they pulled up to the Pelican Inn, Harrison turned off the engine but made no move to get out. "You know," he said carefully, "there's nothing wrong with accepting help when you need it."

Audrey's gaze remained fixed on the inn's white clapboard exterior. "Says the professional helper." There was a hint of a smile in her voice. "I'm not used to needing assistance."

"Sometimes we all do." The words came out softer than he'd intended.

She turned to him then, her green eyes direct. "Thank you for the ride, Harrison. And for... everything else."

"You're welcome, Audrey."

As he helped her navigate the inn's porch steps, crutches awkwardly balanced under her arms, he realized with a start that for the first time in months, he'd gone hours without that hollow feeling in his chest. Without wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with himself now.

Maybe there was something to be said for having a problem to solve. Even if that problem was a stubborn librarian with an injured ankle and a story to tell.