Page 46 of Tourist Trap

“Yes,” Helen and I say together. Helen turns to me, nodding approvingly.

“You’ll keep an eye on her today? Doc says someone should make sure she’s not losing it. It’s not a concussion, but she got knocked pretty good.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Claire grumbles.

“Yeah, I’ve got it, Helen. You covered at the beach?”

She nods and waves a hand at me. “Yeah, no worries. Feel better, Claire.” And then she’s off, nearly skipping as if she didn’t just deliver an injured employee to my door.

“Has she always been this bossy?” Claire asks with a low grumble.

I let out a laugh.

“Yeah, pretty much. At least she has been since I was a kid.” I look at her standing there before I sigh. “Come on. Let’s get you comfy on the couch, you’re going to be here for a while.” I could bring her upstairs to her room, but I’d rather have her somewhere I can comfortably check in on her occasionally.

“Oh my god, not you too,” she says. “I swear I’m fine. My head just hurts a bit, and I’ll have a bit of a knot on my head for a little while.”

“Humor me, okay?” I ask. She looks at me with a bit of a glare, but she must see the resolve in my eyes because she rolls her eyes, then winces at the move before settling into the couch with a sigh. “Where’s Margo?” I feel stupid calling her water bottle by a human name, but it makes her smile, so it’s worth it.

“In my bag,” she says, tipping her chin to where Helen dropped a tote bag near the door.

I dig through it, finding her water before shaking it to check its full and handing it over to her.

“Staying hydrated will help. Want TV, or will it hurt your head?”

“TV should be fine. I don’t want to die of boredom.”

I chuckle at her dramatics before sitting on the other side of the couch, turning the television on, and lowering the volume. Then I grab my phone and shoot Steven, the other mechanic at my shop, to let him know I won’t be in today. It’s not the best case since money is tight, but I’m not leaving her alone. If I get to sit on this couch with her all day to make sure she’s okay, that’s a hit I’ll willingly take.

I force myself not to look at that impulse too closely.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks some time later. When I look over at her, her eyes are closed, her head is back on the cushions with the blanket I draped over her earlier pulled up to her chest.

“What?”

“Why are you doing this? Taking care of me, sitting with me. You have work today. I know you called out. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Because you’re hurt,” I say simply, not wanting to dig into the deeper answer ofbecause I’m starting tolikeyou, and I can’t like you, but I also can’t change that, so here we are.

It’s the same conclusion I jumped to when I saw Sam trying to dance with her: I just couldn’t stand the idea of someone else pulling her in close. The same reason I can’t seem to say no to any of her chaotic ideas, the reason I check her fun list every day and try to think of ways to check them off.

“I would have been fine by myself. You didn’t have to inconvenience yourself with me,” she murmurs under her breath.

I groan and then shift closer to her on the couch. She looks too helpless like this, her confident shine waning like she doesn’t have the energy to keep it up, and that weakens my defenses.

“I’m with you because I care about you, Claire. And you know that,” I say, reaching over to push a strand of her hair that’s fallen into her face. I tell myself it’s to look at her bump, and even if it’s a lie, I inspect it a bit.

The swelling has gone down thanks to the bag of frozen peas I brought her, and the spot on her forehead, while red, doesn’t seem to be darkening, which I think is a good thing. A long beat passes before a soft smile slides along her lips.

“Yeah, I guess I do know that. You’re kind of in love with me.“

I let out a small laugh, baffled by how she can still be flirting when she probably has a killer headache.

“Well, at least I know you still have your twisted sense of humor.” I gently brush my fingers over her bump and watch fascinated as a small shiver runs through her, that smile still on her lips.

“Can you at least admit you like me? If I die, at least I’d die knowing you finally admitted you’re into me.”

I drop my hand then, crossing my arms on my chest and letting out a deep laugh, and turning back to the television where some movie I haven’t been paying attention to is playing.

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