Page 8
8
Jo
T he doorbell startled her, pulling her out of her thoughts. She sat at her desk for a few instants longer, internally debating whether to answer it. Madame Lagarde had already gone home for the evening and, though she knew Chamonix was extremely safe, Jo didn’t relish coming face to face with a stranger. Plus, she’d been right in the middle of a big decision for the structure of her new book. A problem she needed to work through.
Then came a deep voice on the other side of the door, a voice she recognized. “Jo, it’s me. Hugo.”
She stood up, all thoughts of her book forgotten, and made her way quickly to the front door. She didn’t bother picking up her cane—she didn’t need it in spaces she knew as well as she knew this one.
“Hello,” she said, pulling the door open. “We didn’t have an appointment tonight, did we?”
“No appointment,” he confirmed quickly. His low, deep voice soothed her. “I just needed to talk to you.”
“Come inside. Was everything okay today, at work?” She knew how tricky first days back could be, particularly after a traumatic experience. Perhaps he hadn’t been as ready as she’d thought.
“Everything was fine. Beau and Damien even brought in some donuts to celebrate.”
“Okay …” she said, stepping into her office. Donuts didn’t seem like a reason to come see her this late.
“I’m sorry,” he said, as if he could read her mind. “I know we have an appointment at lunchtime tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you I won’t be able to make it.”
“Oh. Would you like to reschedule? I’ll need to check with Madame Lagarde, but I think I’m free?—”
“No,” he said. There was a harsh note in his voice that she didn’t recognize. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, gentling his tone. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I could never be scared of you . The thought, while unexpected, was true. She felt completely safe with him. But she still didn’t know what he was doing here. “Hugo, what’s going on?”
“I can’t see you again. I asked Isolde for other therapist recommendations, but if you have any suggestions?—”
Suggestions of other therapists . The news was like a blow to the solar plexus. Jo staggered back, reaching for her desk. She forced a breath into her lungs, then another, as she circled the desk, looking for her chair. She never sat in her office chair when patients were in the room, always preferring to use the armchairs that had them facing each other, but right now, she needed that space between them. Because if she’d done anything to make him feel uncomfortable, if she’d— No . There would be plenty of time for that later. Now she just needed to act like the professional she was. She needed to make sure he was okay, that he was getting the help he needed. Even if he didn’t think she was the right person to help. “May I ask why?”
“It’s because I don’t want to keep hiding how I feel about you, Jo.”
It took a long instant for her brain to process the unexpected words. Definitely not what she’d expected to hear. “What?”
“I’m going to go out on a limb here, Jo, and hope I’m not the only one who’s felt this energy between us.”
Though her mind was spinning with this new development, she couldn’t lie. “You’re not,” she said quietly.
“Well, I…” He took a breath. “I don’t want to keep hiding it. I don’t want to have to call you Dr. Marsh. I would like to see you outside this office.” His fingers grazed hers—the softest touch. His voice grew quiet. “A date. Dinner, maybe. A chance to get to know each other better. That’s all I’m asking for.”
Her lips curled in a small smile. “Find a new therapist. Then we’ll talk about dinner.”
“Can I at least walk you home?”
“I’d like that,” she said. She’d purposefully picked an office in a crowded area of town, but she still hated that moment when she had to turn her back on the street and lock up. There was so much her hearing couldn’t compensate for.
Once outside, they walked past the crowds of locals heading home and the tourists heading out to dinner. Past the rental shop that was always busy. “I like the way Chamonix smells. Fresh, even in summer.”
“I guess. You’re from Seattle, right? What does home smell like?”
“It depends where you are, and the time of year. It rains a lot, so there’s often this earthy smell, of rain-soaked concrete. Near the waterfront, it smells of fish, and of the wet wood of the pier. And it smells of coffee. Coffee everywhere.” She stopped herself just before telling him that he smelled of coffee when their sessions were in the morning, and that he was becoming one of her favorite scents. “I can’t wait for the snow.”
“Winter in Chamonix is my favorite time of year. You’re going to love it,” Hugo said. “Though you’ll need some crampons on your shoes.”
“Relax. If I fall, my butt’s softer than it looks.”
The sound he made, low in his throat, went straight to her core, tightening something inside her. She loved, also, that he didn’t try to explain it away as anything other than what it was. Desire . They walked on, until Hugo slowed down. A current of cold air told her they were near the entrance to the apart-hotel. “Let me walk you upstairs.”
She led the way to the elevator, turning left and counting the paces to her doorway. She used her fingerprint to open it, waiting for the answering beep. “Would you like to?—”
The end of her sentence was forgotten as another wave of nausea, stronger even than the one she’d experienced earlier that day, struck her. She rushed past Hugo, feeling her way to the bathroom, barely making it onto her knees before everything she’d eaten that day spilled out as she hugged the toilet.
And then Hugo was there, a solid, steady presence at her back. She heard the crackling of his pants as he crouched beside her, even as bile rose to her throat. She heaved again, emptying her stomach. Without hesitation, he reached for her shoulder and held her ponytail against her back. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “Just breathe when you can. I’ve got you.”
Jo gasped for air, her body a trembling mess. That damn ham. Food poisoning was a bitch . He rested one hand lightly on her forehead, kept the other one on her shoulder, his touch was firm but not overbearing. Then it was over. Just as before, the nausea left as quickly as it had arrived.
“I’m okay,” she said. Never—in her entire life—had she ever felt this embarrassed. To think that she’d invited him into her home and—Hugo stood up and turned on the faucet. “Here,” he said, pressing what felt like a damp washcloth into her hand. When she leaned back against the toilet, exhausted, he took it back and dabbed it gently along her forehead and cheeks, wiping away the sheen of cold sweat. “Better?” he asked. His voice sounded worried.
She nodded weakly. “Thanks. I’m really sorry. I swear this isn’t what I had in mind for tonight.”
He barked out a laugh. “Not what I had in mind either. But don’t be sorry. This isn’t a big deal. Besides, you’d do the same for me.”
She tried for a laugh, though it came out more like a breathy sigh. “I don’t know if I’d be much good at helping you find the toilet.”
He chuckled. “You know you probably broke some kind of world record, seeing how fast you made it from the front door to here.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think it’s that braised ham. I got rid of it yesterday, but—” She stopped. She didn’t want to think of the ham.
She heard the clank of glass on porcelain, then felt his fingers brush hers briefly as he handed her a glass. “Water. Take small sips.”
Jo nodded and obeyed, her trembling hand barely able to lift the glass. When she was done, she handed it back with a weak smile, trusting him to take it. “You’re good at this. Shit. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Better now,” she said, making her way back out to the living area after brushing her teeth. “This is my apartment.” She imagined him looking around. It was strange, that this was her place, but she’d never seen it. Not as he was seeing it now. The real estate agent had been great at describing it for her. Large floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, which was decorated in shades of blues and grays. A small kitchen right off the entrance hallway. Tiny, but enough for her needs. She hadn’t been a good cook even before losing her eyesight. Now, all she needed was a fridge and a microwave. Anything more involved than that, she went to a restaurant. Her stomach roiled again, so she quickly stopped thinking about food.
“I like it,” he said. “Is this your family?”
She knew the picture he was pointing at, because it was the only picture she’d brought with her. A picture of her sister’s last birthday. They’d gone out to the waterfront to celebrate, and had lunch at her sister’s favorite place, one of the market stalls in Pike Place Market. Becca had ordered the medium ass shrimp , saying she’d save the big ass shrimp for her thirtieth birthday. Except there’d never been a thirtieth birthday. Becca’s twenty-fifth had been her last.
“That was my sister’s birthday.” By the time that picture had been taken, Becca had already met Bartholomew Horns, even if she hadn’t yet realized how dangerous the man was.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you of something sad.”
“It’s a good memory. It was a great day. And thinking about my sister doesn’t make me sad.” She paused. “I’m not sure I’m going to be very good company tonight, though.”
“Sit. Please. Can I make you something to eat, before I leave?”
“No. No food.” Not tonight . “And that wasn’t a hint. Would you stay?”
“Tell me what you need,” Hugo said, his voice as serious as she’d ever heard it.
“A movie.” She could feel his hesitation. “What? A lot of blind people watch movies.”
“Okay. Tell me how that works.”
“I have Netflix.” She wasn’t going to explain it came with the apartment. “I can pick most of it up just by listening, but I usually set subtitles for the blind. Those are good for movies where the dialog doesn’t tell you what’s really happening.”
“Like if there are lots of explosions.”
“You like movies with explosions?”
“Sure I do. Explosions, car chases, giant storms …”
“You don’t have enough of those in your job?” Jo sat down on her sofa. Her real estate agent had told her it was dark gray. What she really liked about it was how soft and fluffy it was. Exactly what she needed tonight. Despite herself, she shivered. Her body temperature was screwy. She hoped that meant she was finally working through this food poisoning event.
“Here’s the remote. Choose a movie, I’ll be right back.” She heard him moving around the room, heard the soft shuffle that told her he’d found her throw blanket, on the armchair by the bookshelf. Then a pause. “Are these your books?”
She didn’t need to ask what books he was asking about.
“Dr. Jolene M. Hills,” he read. He must be holding one of her early books. Jo felt a chill as she heard her real name spoken out loud. “Jolene. Is that your full name?”
She nodded. “The M is for Marsh, my mother’s maiden name. I go by Jo Marsh now. The old name was too much of a mouthful.” That last bit wasn’t strictly true.
“I can see that, in the last two books you’ve published.” There was an unspoken question in his voice, but one she wasn’t going to answer. She’d changed her name because, even when Horns had been in prison, she’d never felt safe again. She’d wanted to make it as hard as possible for him to find her, if and when it became necessary for her to run.
Hugo
Jo scratched the side of her nose. It was one of her tells, something she did when she was lying. She’d done it before, when he'd asked if she was okay, and she was doing it again now.
She hadn’t changed her name because it was a real mouthful. Something had made her change her name. Something that scared her. But he could see she wasn’t ready to talk about it, and he didn’t want to do anything to push her away.
“Here’s the blanket,” he said, tucking it around her lap. She’d taken off her shoes and was now curled up on one side of the couch with her legs beneath her. He sat down next to her—not far, but not close enough for their arms to brush.
“What do you think of Deep Blue Sea?” He watched, enthralled, as she expertly navigated the TV system by hearing and touch alone.
“Giant, super intelligent sharks?” he asked, when he finally understood what the movie was about. “I didn’t peg you for a fan of animal horror movies.”
“I’ll have you know Lake Placid is one of my favorite movies. I’m surprised I didn’t watch this one when it came out. Plus, I don’t think I’ll have any trouble imagining the characters.”
“Deep Blue Sea it is, then,” he said. He would have agreed to watch anything.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the television and the city lights coming in from outside. The movie started, the opening credits rolling across the screen against the backdrop of deep ocean waters, the soundtrack a low, ominous hum, gradually building in intensity. Hugo found himself paying more attention to the descriptive audio quietly narrating the scene, telling Jo things about the colors, the camera point of view. As the action began, he closed his eyes, listening to the sounds and the description, trying to feel the movie as she was feeling it. It wasn’t easy since what he felt, most of all, was her presence beside him. That fresh lavender scent that was only hers, mixed in with the toothpaste she’d brushed her teeth with. He opened his eyes again.
“Are you okay? Is your back hurting?” she asked, softly. “I know today was a big day.”
He wasn’t in pain, though there was tension there, tension that told him he had to work on getting stronger. And though he’d been looking forward to stretching out in his bed, he wanted to be here with her much more. “I should be the one asking if you’re okay. How’s your stomach?”
“Better now. It’s been coming and going for a few days now. I’m never buying that braised ham again.”
Hugo laughed, but he was worried. “If you’re not feeling better tomorrow, I know a good doctor.” Val would do him the favor of seeing Jo.
“Shhhh. We’re missing the action.” And there was a lot of action. Those sharks were busy from the first moment. Forty minutes into the movie, Hugo wasn’t sure if anybody would make it out alive.
“Wait. What’s going on? I think there’s something wrong with the narration. Sharks can’t swim backwards,” she complained at one point.
“It’s not the narration. It’s the movie. The sharks are swimming backwards,” he confirmed. It wasn’t the only ridiculous thing they’d done. And yet, Hugo had never enjoyed a movie as much. She laughed, shifting under the blanket, ending up closer to him, until their arms touched. Warmth spread through him, and he stayed very still, giving her a moment to realize and move away. The thrill when she didn’t—it was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
“This movie is ridiculous,” she murmured, her voice tinged with amusement.
“It’s a masterpiece,” he countered, deadpan, knowing she’d be able to feel the smirk tugging at his lips.
Jo burst out laughing, her head tilting slightly towards him. His eyes lingered on her profile—her smile, the way the dim light caught the curve of her jaw. Eventually, her laughter faded. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, too quickly, his gaze darting back to the screen. But his pulse quickened when he felt her still watching him.
“You’re terrible at lying,” she teased, her voice quieter now, almost testing.
He hesitated, turning back to look at her. The tension between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it was magnetic, pulling them together. He wanted so badly to kiss her. And he thought she might want that, too, but there were things they hadn’t spoken about. She was blind, and that wasn’t a fact he could ignore. The cues he normally relied on didn’t apply here. He couldn’t kiss her without confirming that she wanted it as much as he did.
The sharks on-screen continued to wreak havoc, but neither of them was paying attention anymore.
“You’re thinking really loudly about something,” she asked.
He sucked in a lungful of air. “I want to ask you something, and I don’t know how to go about it.”
“Okay.” The moment hung there, fragile but electric, and then she leaned in—just slightly, barely enough to close the distance, raising her lips towards his. So in the end, there was no need to talk about it. He didn’t think; he just moved to meet her, their lips brushing in a tentative kiss that sent a jolt through him.
Every doubt vanished as their lips met. It wasn’t hurried, it wasn’t planned. It was slow, exploratory … and altogether overwhelming. He pulled back first, and she exhaled softly, her lips curling into a small, self-conscious smile. “Well,” she murmured, “that was definitely more realistic than the sharks.”
He laughed, low and genuine, and leaned his forehead against hers for a moment. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
Heat spread through her cheeks. She was so fucking lovely. “We should have waited until you found a new therapist.”
He laughed. “We’re okay. I’ve canceled my appointments, remember?”
The movie played on, but the tension between them had shifted—it was lighter now, warmer. And though they returned to watching the film, the space between them had disappeared entirely.
As the movie ended, her hand reached out from under the blanket and touched the back of his head, pulling him closer. “I need to check something,” she whispered, and kissed him again. His lips opened up, letting her tongue inside. Pleasure filled him as her mouth moved lightly against his. He let her take the lead, letting her pace the moment. Her soft lips were warm, unhurried, and slightly hesitant, which only made the kiss more electrifying.
His hands found themselves drawn upward. One hand hovered near her arm as if afraid to break the spell, before finally resting lightly on her waist. The other grazed her jawline, steadying her as her confidence grew.
The kiss deepened, and something in him shifted. Her curiosity, her courage—it sparked something primal in him. Slowly, he took over, tilting his head to meet her more fully. His lips pressed against hers with a firmer purpose now, answering her exploration with his own.
Her hand moved to his chest. His heart pounded beneath her fingertips, a rhythm that seemed impossibly loud. His other hand slid up to cradle the back of her neck, his thumb brushing the edge of her jaw as he pulled her closer.
She melted into him, her body leaning into his, her breath mingling with his own. It was intoxicating—how she tasted, how she felt, how the rest of the world simply ceased to exist as their lips met.
When they finally broke apart, it was with a mutual hesitation, neither quite ready to let the moment end. She stayed close, her forehead brushing his, her breath warm against his lips.
His voice came out low, almost hoarse. “Did that … did that answer your question?”
She laughed softly, her fingers still curled lightly against his chest. “I just had to confirm that first kiss wasn’t a fluke.”
“So. Was it?”
“No.” Her smile deepened. “The second one was even better.”