Page 81 of The Woodcarver's Model
Karen yelled “That’s it! You just have to have your…what’s-his-name moment—”
“Mr Darcy,” Tylor said, with a tone that revealed his disappointment in humanity.
“What he said. Find that one thing that Rob’ll identify with, and you’ll seal the deal.”
Mitch was silent for a moment, then shouted. “I’ve got it! But I’ll need all your help.”
“Do I have to?” said Eric. “Wasn’t it enough that I saved his life?”
“You saved him?” said Mitch.
“Oh, you’ve got to do it,” Tylor begged. “You could be part of something that is so... intensely romantic.”
Sheila walked up to the info desk. “Young man, you’re a real literary type. Who would you say is the biggest cad in Jane Austen’s novels?”
“Well, there are quite a few but, since you asked, I’d have to say…John Willoughby fromSense and Sensibility. Stunning good looks and a record of loving and leaving those who fall for him.”
“Tylor,” she said, then pointed to Eric, “meet your real-life Mr Willoughby.”
* * * *
Rob was wheeled back into a new room after a series of MRIs and X-rays. He had been promoted out of ICU and into his own private room. He was exhausted. He’d climbed Everest and run out of oxygen, and felt better than this. The porter, a fit man in his late fifties, slid Rob’s bed back into place and remounted his intravenous bag onto its pole.
“There you go, Mr Hanson. Get some rest now.”
“Thanks, Billy.”
“Hope you find this room a little less busy. Rest up good, now. They’ll probably want to get rid of you as soon as they can. Hospitals are the worst place to be when you’re sick.” He laughed.
Billy left, and the world was quiet once again. Rob closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
* * * *
Mitch’s house was warm with sunshine. Rob walked in from the kitchen to the living room where Mitch sat by the fire, reading. Rufus was curled up by his feet, flopped on his side with his belly towards the fire. He walked back into the bedroom where, on the dresser, lay the flower he’d presented to Mitch at dinner. He noticed that Mitch stood in the doorway.
“I wish it was real,” Rob said.
“If it was real, you wouldn’t have made it. This is far better.”
“But it has no scent.”
Mitch picked up Rob’s cologne and gave the flower a light spray.
“There. Now it will always smell like you.”
Mitch took him by the shoulders and swung him onto the bed. He placed his hands on Rob’s stomach and slid them upwards, under his shirt and up to his shoulders. Rob lifted his arms above his head and Mitch slipped his shirt off. Mitch’s hands moved back down over Rob’s chest, lingering on his nipples. First his left, then his right, each caressed into hardened nubs. His lips pressed into Rob’s torso, slowly working down towards his shallow navel, then following the narrow trail of fine hair towards…
* * * *
Rob woke up. Standing beside his bed was Estelle.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I lied and told them I was your mother.”
Rob laughed so hard his leg throbbed, but he didn’t mind. Some pain was worth it.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt something,” she said. “You had the most delightful smile on your face while you were sleeping.”
