Page 39 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

Now, consciousness trickles back to me like syrup over a stack of pancakes—slow and sticky. I blink against the soft morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains, my brain foggy with confusion. A weight on my legs and a rhythmic thumping sound pulls me further from the haze of sleep.

“Wha—” My voice is a hoarse whisper, the room spinning slightly as I try to sit up.

Biscuit’s wagging tail comes into focus, his whole bodyvibrating with excitement that I’m finally awake. He licks my face enthusiastically and I smile despite the groan that leaves my lips.

“Okay, Biscuit,” I mumble, scratching behind his ears. “How did we end up here?”

The night before swings back into my memory… The gala, the broken glass, cutting my hand, and passing out. Thatcher carrying me. Then I woke up again in his car. And once more as he was carrying me up a staircase…presumably, this one.

I had murmured something about Biscuit again to him when he shushed me gently.

“Already taken care of,” he whispered back in his usual gruff tone.

Gathering my wits, I carefully swing my legs over the side of the bed. My head swims with the sudden movement, forcing me to pause and take a few deep breaths. Once the dizziness subsides, I look down, noticing that I’m in a pair of sweatpants and a US Naval Academy T-shirt.

Did Thatcher undress me? Was I that out of it?

With Biscuit in tow, I pad downstairs, each step causing me to feel more and more confused. The sound of cartoons playing from the living room and the aroma of breakfast cooking leads me into the heart of Thatcher’s home.

A large, open-concept living room bleeds into the kitchen where Thatcher is at the stove cooking. Duke on the other hand is sitting on the couch, curled up with a blanket, watching cartoons.

“Biscuit!” Duke chirps and Biscuit happily leaps out of my arms and jumps onto the couch, circling twice before falling onto his back for some belly rubs. “Morning, Allie,” Duke says without taking his eyes off Biscuit.

“Hey there, Duke.” I offer a smile, but my gaze quicklyfinds Thatcher at the stove, flipping what smells like heavenly pancakes.

“Daddy and I already took Biscuit outside for a walk while you were sleeping.”

I blink, surprised by this. “You did?”

“Uh-huh.” He nods. “You were drooling. Daddy said not to wake you.”

Absently, I bring the back of my hand up to the corner of my mouth.Sexy. Real sexy.

“Glad you’re up and about,” Thatcher says gruffly, not bothering to turn around. “Biscuit’s been fed already, too.”

“Fed with what?”

He glances at me. “When Griffin went to your condo last night, I had him grab some kibble for Biscuit too.”

“Griffin went to my house last night?” I frown and make my way deeper into the kitchen, leaning against the granite island.

Thatcher pauses and turns to look at me, concern passing over his features. “You don’t remember?” He sets the spatula down and crosses to me, looking deep in my eyes. “Are you feeling okay?” he asks as he brings a hand up to feel my forehead.

I slap him gently away with my non-bandaged hand. “I feel fine. Just…confused.”

“You were in and out of consciousness after cutting your hand and hitting your head.”

I cringe. “Sometimes the sight of blood makes me…queasy.”

“This was more than queasy. You went down. Hard enough to leave a sizable goose egg on your head.”

Once more I touch the bump that’s covered by my hair and wince at the sharp pain.

“Well, I had some painkillers on me at the event thatyou happily took. But after that, I didn’t want to risk you to be alone so I asked you to come to my house. You reluctantly said yes, but were worried about Biscuit. So I sent Griffin to your place to bring Biscuit here.” He shrugs and flips the bacon within the second frying pan.

“Wow, I was really out of it,” I echo, my cheeks warming at the reminder of my less-than-graceful exit from reality.

“Yep,” he replies. There was a hint of a smirk on his lips, suggesting amusement at my predicament. “You really don’t remember any of it?”

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