Page 46 of A Pizza My Heart

“Oh hell.” I reach out, grabbing her forearm and turning it over. “You’re bleeding.”

“I am?” She twists her arm, looking down at the gnarly-looking cut above her elbow. “Crap. What the hell did I do?”

I kick at the sand, uncovering a giant stick buried right where she fell. “You must have fallen on that.”

“I didn’t even feel anything.”

“Well, you were getting attacked by my dog…” I wince. “Sorry about that.”

“He’s lucky he’s cute,” she mutters, throwing daggers Mike’s way. He drops his head, giving her his best puppy dog eyes. “Yeah, I’m talking about you, you adorable little turd.”

Mike drops his tongue out of his mouth, tail wagging like mad.

She shakes her head, laughing, then looks at the deep cut again. “I need to get this cleaned ASAP. I don’t want any more sand getting in there.”

“Here.” I drop her arm carefully. “I have some alcohol wipes we can use for now, but we’ll need to clean it more thoroughly when we get back.”

“Alcohol wipes? Why the—” She falls into a fit of laughter. “Oh my god, Foster. Are you wearing a fanny pack? An actual fanny pack? What are you, eighty?”

“Hey,” I say, raising my brow. “You should be thrilled I have this fanny pack right now. It’s filled to the brim with medical supplies that are going to come in handy as you bleed all over the beach.”

“Whatever.” She waves a hand. “Just get the wipes before this thing gets infected.”

“I have vodka too, if you’d like some.”

“You carry vodka in your man purse?”

“You never know when you’ll need it.” I pull the bag open and dig around underneath the supplies and snacks I have stashed in there. “You know you might need stitches, right?”

“I don’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know I’m not going anywhere near a needle.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t need stitches.”

“But it does mean I won’t get them,” she argues. “Can we walk and wipe? I need to get back home. I have a client coming in at eight and I’m going to need extra time to deal with this.”

I nod and motion for her to lead the way as I continue to dig through my bag, Mike following behind dutifully.

“I could have sworn I replenished my supply of those wipes,” I mutter. “I had to after I fell off my bike last month.”

“You bike too? Since when?”

“You get up early? Since when?”

She tightens her lips. “Fair enough, but this whole me-getting-up-early thing is entirely your fault, you know.”

“Oh, please do elaborate on this. I’m bursting with anticipation to know howIcould be to blame for that.”

“That’s easy—you left me.”

Her words hit me square in the chest.

Fucking hell.

She can say she’s not mad about it, can tell me she’s over it all she wants, but I can tell she’s still upset I left town as quickly as I did.

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