It’s on the tip of my tongue to say Elijah, but I don’t and it makes my ribs ache even more. We’re two weeks away from the election. He can’t just waltz into the City Market. If the abundance of tourists didn’t recognize him, the other vendors and smattering of locals would. “There’s no one. I’m fine. There’s only an hour left until we close.”
“You need to go home, sweetie,” says the disembodied voice. Vaguely, I register hands digging in my apron and more talking. I see my cell phone in someone else’s hand and make a grab for it, but the effort costs me and I slump back in my chair. “Is this Elijah? Yes, my name is Francine and I’m a nurse. No—no, sir. Calm down. She’s fine. She’s right here, but she’s very sick. You were the last number she called and I just…”
The next thing I remember is being carried like a limp doll. I recognize these arms. They caught me once when I almost fell down the stairs outside my apartment. The one and only time they were around me. I curl toward the warmth of my savior, then immediately begin to burn up and squirm to be put down so I can cool off. The arms don’t let me.
“You were just fine last night, Goose. Just fine.” Elijah’s voice makes me slump, because surely the familiar, hearty timbre of it will heal me. It’s much angrier than usual, but it’ll work. “You think you can be mean? Just wait. I’m going to give you hell once you’re better.”
His heavy tread jostles my face against his chest and I take a huge gulp of his scent, tugging his coat close, rubbing against it like a cat. “You don’t have a mean bone in your body.”
He’s quiet so long I wonder if I imagined him and I’m just floating down the street. “I can be mean when a nurse calls me from your phone. I can be mean then.”
“Are you going to lose the election now?”
A hand ghosts over my hair. “No. And you don’t worry about things like that.”
“I worry about it all the time,” I whisper.
I can sense him leaning down, can smell his shampoo. Malin + Goetz. He keeps the simple white bottle of it in my shower and I allow myself to sniff it every third day. “Why don’t you talk to me about it?”
“Because that’s not why you keep coming back.”
“Addison…”
My subconscious is screaming at me to shut up, but I barely have the strength to acknowledge it, let alone follow instructions. “I don’t have time to be sick. Requests have been coming in all week from the website. Everyone in this town wants a nativity in their front yard on Christmas. I’m the ball joke salesgirl, Elijah. Now I have to add mangers to my wheelhouse.”
“I’ll help you when the time comes. Right now, just stop being sick, please.”
“Blond men, too. I’m getting a lot of website requests from blond men.” My laugh is semi-hysterical. “They’re definitely not interested in mangers.”
“What are they…” Elijah growls. “Never mind. I don’t even want to know. You’re not really planning on accepting dates from these idiots, are you?”
“No. I’d just spend the whole time missing you.”
There’s a break in his step. “I’d miss you, too, Goose.”
A few seconds later another voice, calm and familiar joins the haze. “Okay, Captain. Put her in the back seat with me.” Being upended causes me to groan and Elijah to curse, but I’m quickly leaned up against something soft. “It’s Lydia, Addison. We’re taking you home now, sound good? We’ll fix you right up. Have you taken any medicine or…”
Everything is upside down. Lydia’s words turn into sounds and eventually fade into nothing. I think I hear Elijah yelling at me, but I’m too tired to answer. And then I can’t, because sleep claims me and I’m more than happy to allow it.
CHAPTER NINE
Elijah
Captain Du Pont to the Rescue?
Witnesses claim to have seen Charleston’s favorite mayoral candidate
swooping in to rescue Getaway Girl. Romance revived? Or did it never die?
—TheTea.com
My father taught me a very important lesson when I was a young boy. When a man doesn’t know how to fix a situation with a woman, he best get himself to a florist. I’ve made three trips in as many hours while Addison sleeps, filling the living room and kitchen with sunflowers and roses. Lydia is in the bedroom with Goose, doing important things like trying to bring the fever down and I’m out here, digging for more vases. Eventually, I run out and start to use drinking glasses, which I’m sure Addison will yell at me about once she’s feeling better. If that doesn’t happen sooner rather than later, I’m going to clean out the damn florist.
Something is bothering me. I can’t find the source of the itch under my collar.