Page 2 of Love Takes A Tumble
The man took a step closer, and Audrey noticed he carried a travel mug in one hand. An early riser too, perhaps. "You're staying at the Pelican Inn," he said, not a question but a statement.
"Yes." She didn't ask how he knew. The inn was small, guests few enough that they'd all noted each other's presence at breakfast or in the garden. She had a vague recollection of seeing him on the porch two evenings ago, nursing a drink as the sun set. She hadn't paid much attention. Socializing wasn't why she'd come to Palmar Island.
He set his mug in the sand and crouched beside her, his movements practiced and efficient. "I'm Harrison Tate. Most people call me Harry." His eyes were a deep blue, she realized, like the ocean just before a storm. "Let me take a look at that ankle."
"That's really not nec?—"
But his hands were already gently probing the injury, his touch surprisingly careful for someone with such weathered, capable hands. Audrey found herself momentarily at a loss forwords, caught between indignation at his presumption and an odd sense of relief at not being alone anymore.
"Not broken," he said after a moment. "But a nasty sprain. You need ice, elevation, and probably someone to check it's not worse than it looks."
"Thank you for the diagnosis, Doctor...?" The sarcasm slipped out before she could stop it.
A corner of his mouth quirked up. "Firefighter, actually. Retired. But I've seen enough sprains to know you're not walking back on that."
Of course he was a firefighter. The confident competence, the automatic assumption that she needed rescuing… It all made sense now. "Well, I appreciate your concern, but I can manage."
Harrison—Harry—sat back on his heels, regarding her steadily. "You planning to hobble a quarter mile back to the inn?"
Her cheeks burned. "If necessary."
"Sounds like a great way to get sand in an open wound and end up with an infection on top of that sprain."
"I don't have any open?—"
"Yet." He stood, brushing sand from his knees. "Look, I'm heading back to the inn anyway. Let me help you."
Audrey pressed her lips together, weighing her limited options. Her ankle throbbed with increasing intensity, a reminder that stubborn independence might not be the wisest course right now. But accepting help from a stranger—especially one who looked at her with that mix of concern and amusement—felt like conceding something important.
"I'm Audrey," she said finally, the closest she could come to acceptance. "Audrey Whitaker."
"Nice to meet you, Audrey Whitaker," he replied, and without further discussion, he bent and slid one arm under herknees, the other supporting her back. "This is going to be easier than you hopping the whole way."
"Wait, you can't just—" But the protest died in her throat as he lifted her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest as if she weighed nothing at all. The sudden proximity was overwhelming. The solid warmth of him, the faint scent of coffee and something woodsy, the steady beat of his heart against her shoulder. Her own heart gave a strange little flutter that she immediately attributed to surprise and nothing more.
"Your notebook," he said, nodding toward where it lay in the sand.
"Oh." She'd almost forgotten it in the commotion. "Could you...?"
Harrison bent carefully, maintaining his hold on her while somehow managing to scoop up the notebook with his free hand. He passed it to her with a small smile that softened the rugged planes of his face. "Can't leave the important things behind."
He reached down once more, retrieving his coffee mug from where he'd set it in the sand, managing to hold it with the same hand that supported her knees. "And I'm not leaving my coffee either. Morning necessity."
She clutched the notebook to her chest, suddenly self-conscious. "It's just notes."
"Didn't look like 'just' anything to me." He adjusted his grip on her and began walking toward the inn, his stride steady and unhurried. "You a writer?"
"Trying to be," she admitted, the words coming easier with her face turned slightly away from his. "I used to be a librarian."
"Used to be?" His voice rumbled close to her ear.
"I retired early. To write." The explanation felt inadequate, missing all the years of putting everyone else's needs before her own, of helping readers find the perfect book while her own story remained untold. "It's a new chapter. Literally."
Harrison's chest moved with what might have been a chuckle. "I know something about new chapters."
The understanding in his tone made her glance up, catching his gaze for a moment before quickly looking away. There was a weight behind his eyes that suggested he knew exactly what it was like to reinvent yourself when the life you'd planned suddenly veered into unfamiliar territory.
The Pelican Inn gradually came into view. White clapboard gleaming in the morning sun, its wraparound porch and gabled roof a welcoming sight. Audrey tried to ignore how acutely aware she was of being carried, of the strange intimacy of having a stranger's arms around her. It had been a very long time since anyone had touched her with such casual confidence.
