Page 11 of Love Walked In

CHAPTER EIGHT

Mari

I’d never asked someone to touch me except in very particular circumstances, ones where I felt powerful or at least equal.

But when every joint in my body ached and my internal thermostat couldn’t decide whether I was sledding in Antarctica or hiking across the Sahara, Leo’s cool skin on mine was sweet relief. “Thank you,” I sighed.

For a second we stood there, my hand pressed to his.

“About yesterday,” he said, his voice shaking a little.

My head was throbbing and my whole body was one big ache, and unhappiness still simmered in the pit of my stomach. “Can it wait?”

His face fell. “Of course, I just wanted to say…”

I pulled away from his gentle touch, despite my urge to keep him there for the next week. “Please don’t,” I forced out. “I can’t have it out with you right now.”

“All right, not right now. I’ll be back in a moment with a thermometer.” He paused. “Are you going to lock the door behind me?”

I rolled my eyes at the hint of snarkiness in his voice. “Oh ye of no faith whatsoever,” I said. Though what had I done to earn his trust? The bare minimum. Maybe not even that. It took two to tango, after all. “I won’t lock up behind you, I promise.”

Leo left and came back a minute later with a plastic case with a green cross on it.

I was used to first aid kits being red, but I learned something new every day in this place.

He pulled out a plastic wand and hovered it in front of my forehead until it beeped.

“Thirty-eight point three,” he said, squinting at it.

“That’s definitely a fever. I’m going to call the NHS helpline and see if you might need to go to hospital. ”

I shook my head, then cringed at the pain. “I can’t afford to go to the hospital.” Suzanne paid for my health insurance, but I had insisted she get me the basic package because I never got sick. Until now.

Leo glared at me. “We have the National Health Service here. Going to hospital is free because medical treatment shouldn’t depend on whether you’re in work or not.”

I snorted. “I don’t disagree with you. I’m just not used to other places being humane.”

He shook his head, then put away the first aid kit, and I climbed back into bed, tugging the covers up over me as he settled on the love seat and took out his phone. “Is your full name just Mari Cole?” he asked. “They might ask, for their records. I need to know your birthdate, too.”

I recited my birthdate, then hesitated. “I’m Marilyn Gardner Cole legally, but if you call me Marilyn, I won’t answer.”

He cocked his head. “Why not? It’s a nice name. Old-fashioned.”

Because my step-grandmother and namesake had made it blatantly obvious she thought I was nothing but a burden on her saintly only son. “It never felt like it fit me.” I tilted my chin toward him. “Is Leo short for anything?”

“Not legally. I’m Leo Nathaniel on my birth certificate.” His eyes crinkled. “But Alexander wanted me to be Leopold, after his father. My mother refused to saddle me with that, so they compromised.”

I let out a laugh of disbelief. “Oh my God. Leopold . Seriously?” It was a name made out of muttonchops and starched collars, not one meant for the twenty-first century.

He trailed long fingers through his hair, and I had a flash of understanding why some women were into silver foxes. “Not a word of a lie. One of the few times my grandfather didn’t get his way.”

While Leo pressed some buttons on his phone, I curled up in a ball and stared into space, trying not to think about how much my body hurt right now.

I looked back on my childhood and was grateful I’d never been this sick when Greg was in charge of me.

Goodness knows it had been bad enough when I’d gotten my period.

I’d had to ask for advice from my Spanish teacher and buy all my own pads and tampons.

But I was so tired now, and it sounded so nice to have someone else competent take care of things for once. Still, something in me kicked against it being Leo , the man who made Eeyore look like a cockeyed optimist. “Why are you doing this? I’m your least favorite person right now.”

Leo looked up from his phone. “Because you need someone.”

I cringed away from the words. I didn’t need anybody. I couldn’t need anybody, because they’d all leave me in the end. But I was so tired, and so sick, and some old childish part of my brain cried out at the thought of being left alone.

He said shyly, “Unless you want me to get someone else? Graham?”

Warm, friendly, easy Graham would be the logical choice, not this tight-mouthed ball of grumpiness.

Not that he looked grumpy right now, more determined, and that determination made me feel like nothing else bad would happen to me.

He wouldn’t allow it. “No,” I said, finally letting myself give in.

“I’ll let you do it. You owe me, anyway. ”

“How generous of you.” After a few seconds I heard the robotic voice of a phone menu, then tinny hold music. “All right, I’m in the queue. Now, what have you been doing to look after yourself?”

I shrugged. “I thought I could just wait it out.”

He looked like he was resisting the urge to slap his forehead. “I won’t tell you what a terrible idea that was. You could have an infection. You could get pneumonia and then you’d really have to go to hospital.”

I studied the strain in his eyes. He was genuinely anxious about me getting sick.

Like he’d been where I was and had hated every second of it, too.

I guessed someone as skinny as him could catch whatever was going around way too easily.

I hoped he’d had someone to look after him, the way he was looking after me.

“We should get you some chicken soup, no matter what,” he said firmly. “Judith always has a batch in her freezer, it’s the best thing in the world when I’m ill.”

I shook my head. “No, no. I’m pescatarian, so no chicken, thanks.”

He blinked for a second. “All right, we can find you vegetable soup. I didn’t know that about you.” He paused, then said quietly, “I don’t know much of anything about you, besides what’s on your CV.” A click came from his phone, a distant voice saying “Hello?” and he put his phone to his ear.

As he spoke to the nurse, his wondering words repeated in my brain.

I’d never been one of nature’s oversharers, at first because no one was super interested in what I had to say, and then because time spent talking about myself meant time not spent listening to what customers wanted or what Suzanne envisioned for Orchard House.

It was just easier not to confide in anyone.

But this was the first time I’d felt less than fine with that. That I’d felt like I might want to remove a layer of armor. Just one.

I pushed away the unhelpful guilt, and when he’d hung up the phone, I said, “You don’t have to do any of this. I can take care of myself.”

“Mari,” he sighed. “You know you need this. Stop fighting me.”

Healthy Mari would have happily argued back just to show him he wasn’t the boss of me, but I honestly didn’t have the energy to keep telling him no. “What did the nurse say?” I asked.

“That you most likely have the flu and will just have to, as you said, wait it out.” He put his hand up at the beginning of my “I told you so.” “But she said you should have lots of fluids, and medicine to help with the symptoms.” He walked across the room and stuck his head into the fridge in the corner of the kitchenette, then stepped into the bathroom.

“I have ibuprofen already,” I called weakly.

He stuck his head out of the bathroom. “That’s good, but I’m going to get you Lemsip. It has paracetamol in it.”

I blinked at him. “I don’t know what those two words mean.”

“They’ll make you feel better, I promise.” He went to the front door, then turned around like he’d forgotten something. “Why don’t you eat meat?”

I loaded up the short, sanitized version of the story.

“My step-grandparents had a farm just outside town. I liked the chicks and the piglets too much to eat the grown-up versions.” I left out that they’d told me repeatedly that I was a baby for crying about dead animals, that this was the way the world worked.

That they’d made me sit at the table in front of a cold plate of food long after dinner was over.

I was waiting for a nod, or a platitude, before the conversation moved on. Instead Leo said quietly, “I don’t like eating red meat. The texture’s just…” He shuddered audibly. “Took my parents years to understand that, and I spent a lot of time pushing it around my plate before my mother gave in.”

Out of nowhere, I had the urge to… thank him.

I’d been sincere with him, and he hadn’t pushed it away, or treated it like information he’d use against me later.

I’d had this outline of Leo in my head, harsh lines and sharp edges, but why couldn’t I try to fill it in with some color?

It didn’t have to mean we’d be close, or that we’d go nuts and end up in bed together.

It’d be good for the store, to understand the man a little better, and for him to understand me.

“I hear you,” I said. “I had to learn to cook when I was twelve because my stepfather didn’t believe in pescatarianism.”

Leo’s eyebrows went up. “You learned how to cook when you were twelve? What did you make?”

I shook my head at his astonishment. “I mean, we’re not talking Michelin-starred tasting menus here. I figured out how to make a tofu stir-fry and mix vegetables and canned tuna into pasta. Not rocket surgery.” I shrugged. “I’ve always been able to look after myself. I had to.”

“My sisters are a lot like you,” he said thoughtfully. “Self-contained. Always wanting to do everything themselves.”

Leo’s revelation grabbed my attention. I was so used to thinking of him as the crown prince that it hadn’t even occurred to me there might be Ross princesses. “You have sisters?”

His eyes were suddenly warm, fond, and all of a sudden I wanted to get closer to him, feel that warmth in my bones. “I do,” he said. “Gabi and Sophie. They’re twins.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said lamely. Because I didn’t know much about Leo, either, besides what was on his résumé. “But wait, why aren’t they helping out at the shop if it’s such a family concern?” Helping you, I didn’t say.

“They’re only sixteen,” Leo said.

“But—”

He held up his hand. “I know, you and I have both worked in bookshops since we were children. But it’s not the same for them.

Gabi’s a brilliant cellist, and Sophie can’t imagine life without playing football.

” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t deprive them of what gives them so much joy. ” He paused. “More than that, I won’t.”

I studied his firm expression, putting the pieces together. How tense and exhausted he was all the time, but also how he sat drawing in his sketchbook whenever he had a second.

His joy hadn’t disappeared, but it was weak, flickering, starved of oxygen.

What would he be like if he could do what he really wanted? If his eyes had spark and his mouth curled up more?

It was only when Leo turned to the door that I realized we’d been staring at each other for a solid fifteen seconds. “I should go get your medicine,” he said, sounding distracted. “I’ll buy soup and fruit juice, too. Anything else?”

“Nope,” I said automatically, not wanting to tip the scales back to owing him again. But when he opened the door, I found myself blurting, “Leo?”

He turned. “Yeah?”

An emotion I hadn’t acknowledged in years surged up inside me.

I knew I would always end up on my own, but just for today, I didn’t want to be.

I pulled my blankets around me, warmth and courage.

“When you come back, will you stay for a little bit?” I asked, unable to keep the plaintiveness out of my voice.

His eyes softened. “Yes. I’ll stay.”