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

Chapter Three

Audrey stared at the mess of dropped papers surrounding her desk chair, frustration tightening her chest. Two days of hobbling around on crutches had left her with sore underarms, a bruised ego, and the vague suspicion that inanimate objects were conspiring against her.

The desk drawer that refused to open fully.

The book that had somehow migrated just beyond her reach.

And now her carefully organized research notes scattered across the floor like autumn leaves.

"Absolutely perfect," she muttered, leaning her crutches against the wall to attempt a retrieval.

Awkwardly lowering herself, she managed to snag one page before losing her balance and nearly tumbling sideways.

She caught herself on the edge of the desk, wincing as her ankle protested the sudden movement.

Independence had never been this difficult before. Growing up as the dutiful daughter, then spending decades caring for her increasingly demanding mother, Audrey had prided herself on her self-sufficiency. Yet here she was, defeated by a handful of papers and a drawer that stuck.

A knock on her door interrupted her frustrated thoughts.

"Yes?" she called, hastily pulling herself upright, determined not to be caught in such an undignified position.

The door opened to reveal Harrison, a fresh ice pack in one hand and a small paper bag in the other. "Thought you might need a refresh," he said, lifting the ice pack. His gaze moved from her flushed face to the scattered papers. "Bad timing?"

"I dropped a few things," she said stiffly. "Nothing important."

Harrison set the ice pack on the dresser and the bag beside it. "Need a hand?" he asked, already crouching to gather the fallen pages.

"That's really not—" Audrey began, but he was already collecting them, arranging them into a neat stack with efficient movements. The ease with which he solved her immediate problem was simultaneously irritating and touching.

"Character notes?" he asked, glancing briefly at the page on top.

Audrey felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Yes. For my lighthouse keeper."

Harrison handed her the stack with a small smile that softened the rugged lines of his face. "Sounds like an interesting guy. Haunted by the past, if I caught that right."

"Something like that." She took the papers, oddly self-conscious. Her protagonist was indeed haunted by regret. By choices unmade, and by the life he might have lived. Though she'd die before admitting it had become something of a self-portrait.

"Brought you some of Miss Doris's peanut butter cookies," Harrison said, nodding toward the paper bag. "She insisted they have medicinal properties."

"That's very kind," Audrey said, suddenly aware of how close he was standing, how the morning sunlight caught the silver at his temples. "Thank you."

"Ice pack and cookies. All part of the rescue service." His tone was light, but something in his eyes made her breath catch.

"I don't need rescuing," she said automatically.

"Course not." He moved toward the door. "But everybody needs cookies. Even self-sufficient authors with sprained ankles."

As the door closed behind him, Audrey found herself staring at the spot where he'd stood, the papers clutched against her chest, her heart beating a rhythm that had nothing to do with her recent exertion and everything to do with the warmth that had spread through her at his matter-of-fact kindness.

The most irritating part wasn't that she needed help. It was how much she'd started looking forward to him offering it.

By late afternoon, Audrey had managed to make her way downstairs, a messenger bag slung across her body containing her laptop and notes.

She navigated the stairs carefully on her crutches, pausing at each step to ensure her balance.

The parlor offered more breathing room than her suite, and she'd begun to feel like a prisoner in her own room.

The change of scenery, she told herself, was purely practical.

It had nothing to do with being in a place where certain helpful former firefighters might pass by.

She settled into the window seat, arranging her injured ankle on a cushion and extracting her materials from the bag.

The warm afternoon light spilled across the polished wood floors, and a gentle breeze stirred the curtains.

It was the perfect setting for writing, yet the cursor on her screen blinked accusingly, her protagonist's dilemma suddenly as intractable as her own.

"Ah, there you are!"

Audrey looked up to find an elderly woman with silver hair arranged in a neat bob watching her from the parlor doorway. Though they hadn't been formally introduced, Audrey had seen her around the inn, usually carrying food or offering unsolicited advice to Elise and Jacob.

"Miss Doris, isn't it?" Audrey said, closing her laptop.

"The very same." The older woman moved into the room with surprising grace, settling into the armchair opposite. "How's that ankle treating you?"

"It's fine, thank you." Her standard response, though the throbbing told her otherwise.

Miss Doris's shrewd eyes seemed to see right through the polite fiction. "Mmhmm. And I suppose our Harry's been mother-henning you half to death."

"He's been attentive," Audrey admitted, unsure why the observation made her cheeks warm.

"That man," Miss Doris said with a shake of her head, though her tone was fond.

"Always needs to be fixing something. Been that way since he checked in two weeks ago, wandering around like someone who's lost his purpose.

" She leaned forward, as if sharing a confidence.

"Not that I blame him. Thirty years of running toward danger, then suddenly told his heart can't take it anymore? Bound to leave a hole."

Audrey blinked, processing this unexpected information. "His heart?"

"Minor issue, he says. Enough to push him into early retirement." Miss Doris waved a hand dismissively. "But you can imagine what that does to a man who's built his whole life around being the hero."

Something shifted in Audrey's perspective, puzzle pieces rearranging themselves. The way Harrison seemed to materialize whenever someone needed help. His restlessness. The shadow that sometimes crossed his face when he thought no one was looking.

"He seems to be handling it well," she offered.

Miss Doris's laugh was gentle but knowing.

"Does he now? Is that why he's been hanging around this place more than necessary, finding loose hinges to fix and guests to rescue?

" Her gaze was suddenly direct. "He was supposed to leave three days ago.

Extended his stay right after he carried you back from the beach. "

Audrey's pulse quickened, though she told herself it was simply surprise. "I'm sure that's a coincidence."

"I'm sure it is," Miss Doris agreed, in a tone that suggested exactly the opposite. She stood, smoothing her skirt. "Well, I should get back to my baking. Did those cookies find their way to you?"

"Yes, thank you. They were delicious."

"His idea," Miss Doris said, moving toward the door. "He said you seemed like you could use something sweet." She paused, glancing back. "Interesting, isn't it? Two people at crossroads, both a little lost, both a little stubborn. Makes you wonder."

Before Audrey could respond, Miss Doris was gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of vanilla and the unsettling awareness that perhaps she and Harrison had more in common than she'd realized. Both at turning points. Both unsure of what came next.

Both, perhaps, a little afraid of needing someone else.

She turned back to her laptop, the cursor still blinking steadily. But now, instead of her lighthouse keeper's dilemma, all she could think about was a silver-haired firefighter with a heart condition and a knack for showing up exactly when she needed him.

Purely coincidence, of course. Nothing more.