Page 28 of Unpacking Secrets

“Damn,” I breathed. The clock on the lobby wall confirmed it. “Time flies when you’ve got a head wound, I guess. No wonder I’m starving.”

Henry laughed. “I think we can remedy that. I ordered a pizza, we can pick it up on the way to your place. Unless you’d rather spend the night at my house?”

My nose scrunched at the casual way he said it and he responded with another wide-eyed look of innocence.

“Or I can drop you at the hospital, if you’re that opposed to having company.”

I smiled sweetly in response. “Oh no, you can be my honored guest. Of course, the couch is probably as old as your grandfather, but I’m sure it’s quite comfortable.”

A wicked gleam entered his eye. “If you’d prefer to—” He broke off, snapping his mouth shut as Libby reappeared.

I was desperately curious about what he was going to say, but I forced myself to pay attention to Libby as she went over instructions for changing bandages and taking painkillers. Henry was tasked with ensuring I stayed awake for the next several hours and Libby ordered him to check in on me throughout the night, which made me cringe.

Finally, the good doctor patted my shoulder, handed Henry the paper bag of supplies, and smiled approvingly as he looped the backpack over one shoulder and slid his arm around me once more.

This was getting to be a bad habit,but that warning didn’t keep me from appreciating his support. It was a little too easy to lean on him, to trust his strong limbs to keep me upright in case I stumbled.I attempted to bear a bit more weight on my own two feet, grimacing in the process, but Henry's grip stayed firm.

I would have rolled my eyes, but I was afraid I’d get dizzy and collapse against him.

Once we were situated in the truck, I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. Henry sang along with the radio, the deep timbre of his voice lulling me nearly to sleep, but every so often, he’d murmur my name or squeeze my uninjured knee to keep me awake.

Until a few hours ago, the mere thought of him was enough to send my blood pressure sky high. Now, I found myself comfortable enough with him to give up on all semblance of polite conversation.

If I ever had to defend that feeling, I would blame my injuries.

Drowsing in the passenger seat, I barely even noticed when he shifted the vehicle into park and ran in to pick up the pizza. The smell of it was enough to bring me back to my senses, though. My stomach rumbled loudly and I cracked open one eye to peek over at him.

“Almost home,” he said, grinning at me.

I closed my eyes again, embarrassed. Though Henry made sure I never dozed off, before I knew it, the truck had stopped again and the rush of cool evening air swept over me as he opened my door. When his arm slid under my knees, I peeled my eyes open as quickly as I could.

“I can walk,” I insisted. The words came out a little too shrill for my liking.

“Sorry, just trying to help. By all means,” he said, gesturing toward the cottage.

Henry plastered a benign smile on his face. He had my backpack slung over his shoulder again, leaving me with only my battered body to contend with.

I took a deep breath, hoping the painkillers Libby gave me at the clinic had kicked in already, and slid off the seat, landing with my weight on my good leg. Henry waited patiently while I tested out my injured knee and I found myself able to limp along a little less pathetically than before.

“The key is in the front pocket of my bag,” I told him.

“Huh.” The way he said it made it clear it was an observation rather than a question.

“What?” I demanded.

I risked a quick glance at his pensive expression before returning my gaze to the path leading up to the cottage. The last thing I needed was another fall, especially right in front of him, so I picked my way carefully along.

He was quiet for a moment, then replied, “I don’t think Nan ever locked the front door, that’s all.”

“I forgot to, the other night,” I admitted. “Then I had to search the house with my keys between my fingers, in case someone broke in.”

“If you were afraid there was someone inside the cottage, you shouldn’t have gone in at all.” When I glanced at his face again, he looked horrified at the prospect of me trying to fend off an intruder with only my keys for a weapon.

Flustered, I shrugged. “I didn’t want to overreact by calling 911, and I wasn’t going to ask your grandfather to check my closets for the boogeyman.”

With a disgruntled scowl, he said, “Next time, you can call me.”

I nodded, unwilling to argue after this hellscape of a day, and watched him fish the key from my backpack before I recognized the familiarity in his earlier statement.

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