Page 50 of The Last Date

“Sasha!” With her golden hair, I didn’t need to see the horrified woman’s face to know it was Sasha’s mother. “Your father is going to kill you.”

I approached the window, standing in the square of light so that she could see me clearly.

“Come on,” Sasha whispered. “Let’s go.”

Something wouldn’t let me allow a mother to worry about her daughter, no matter what the circumstances.

“Mrs. Radcliffe, I’m taking Sasha out to dinner. With the current stress going on in your household, I’d like to invite her to spend the rest of the weekend with me. If she would prefer not to do that, I’ll drive her back here, or to Sarah’s, whatever she wants. But I need you to know that I’ll take good care of her.”

Her face was hard to read through the screen, but I think she smiled. “Thank you, Oakley. Now, run.”

Taking Sasha’s hand, we walked quickly to the car, but she seemed to be limping slightly. As I opened her door to help her inside, her skirt flipped up a little, giving me a quick peek at the bleeding scrape on the side of her leg that she was trying to hide by holding a tissue on it.

Kneeling beside her as she sat, I pulled her skirt up to get a better look.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “It happened when I first crawled out the window. I’ll clean it when we get there.”

Swallowing hard, I took her hand. My sweet girl was so determined to go on our date that she was hiding the fact she must be in pain. My gut flipped that she’d been so nervous about her dad that she wouldn’t walk past him in the hall, and felt she had to sneak out.

“That’s going to need a couple of stitches, baby. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No,” she nearly squealed. Her back teeth chattered as she winced.

Digging in the glove compartment, I found some alcohol wipes, quickly going over the gash while she squirmed in pain. Then I gave her a paper towel to press on it.

“I’m sorry, but I need to do the right thing here. Is it the stitches or the hospital you’re afraid of?”

“Hospitals. Doctors. I just..can’t. Please don’t make me.”

“Okay.” Shutting her door, I raced around to my side of the car. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take care of it.”

In under ten minutes, I escorted her to the back door of one of my smaller restaurants, Cultivate. Slipping in the back door, I took her to the supply room where there was a little folding chair.

“Stay put, keep light pressure on it.”

Going back into the kitchen area, I caught Glen’s eye. “Good evening, Chef,” he called out, making everyone snap their attention in my direction.

“Evening,” I chuckled. “Glen, I need you in the storeroom for three stitches.”

“Yes, Chef.” He surveyed the orders in front of him. “Two minutes, Chef.”

“Thanks.”

I went back to where Sasha was trying to chew a hole through her bottom lip. “Relax. I swear this will be okay.”

Digging in the medical toolbox, I pulled out the numbing gel. Hitching her dress up, I pulled a crate over, then wiped the cut clean again, dousing the area with gel.

“You know how some sports teams have a doctor right there at games, for little patch-ups?”

“Yeah.” Her voice trembled.

“I try to have a medic in every kitchen. Burns and cuts happen all the time. Glen was an ambulance paramedic for years, but loves food more than sirens. He’s stitched me up before. It’ll be a breeze.”

“Okay.”

Glen arrived with freshly scrubbed hands and his usual no-nonsense attitude. “Oh good, you’ve gelled her already,” he nodded, pulling out the supplies as I introduced them.

“Sasha, I don’t have access to the freezing needles, just the numbing gel, so you’ll feel this a little,” he said. “It will be more of an icky sensation than outright pain. But if you want to save hours in the ER at this time of day, I’ll make the stitches tighter and smaller than they would. I promise.”

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