showering, Vince felt somewhat better and definitely more alert. He pulled on sweatpants and a T-shirt, keeping his movements slow to avoid another dizzy spell. Not that he was sick, he assured himself. He was healthy as a horse. He’d simply experienced a little…blip in his system. Nothing to be alarmed about, and certainly nothing that required hospitalization. He’d kick back for the remainder of the weekend, watch a little TV. By Monday he’d be as good as new and ready to get back to work.
Having resolved his health issues in his mind—and mentally conceded to a twenty-four-hour vacation to appease his doctor—he headed for the kitchen where he found Sally chopping vegetables at the island, dressed in, of all things, a bikini. He squeezed his eyes shut, sure that his mind was playing tricks on him, but when he opened them, her breasts were still pushing at the tiny electric-blue triangles that covered them. Beads of perspiration dotted the valley between her breasts. His mouth suddenly dry, he wet his lips and would swear he tasted salt and coconuts.
“Vince?”
He snapped his gaze to hers. He swallowed hard, then stole a quick look to confirm what she was wearing, and found the bikini was gone, replaced by shorts and a top. Wondering if the bump on his head had done more damage than he first thought, he asked hesitantly, “Did you change clothes?”
She looked at him curiously. “Well, yeah. While you were in the shower. Is that a problem?”
He gulped again, not wanting to ask but needing to know. “Do you own a blue bikini?”
Her eyes narrowed to slits.
He held up a hand. “Just answer the question. Do you own a blue bikini?”
“You know very well I do, since I was wearing it this morning when you arrived home.”
He sagged his shoulders in relief. Thank God. He wasn’t going crazy. A little addled maybe, but he wasn’t delusional.
She slammed the knife to the counter. “Would you mind telling me what this is all about?”
“I…I was testing to see if the fall had affected my memory.”
Though he could tell she didn’t buy his story, thankfully she didn’t question him further and began to chop again.
“I thought we’d eat on the patio,” she said. “It’s nice out.”
He glanced at the wall of doors that opened to the patio and saw that she’d already set the table outside. A candle flickered in a lantern on its center. Although he preferred to eat his meals in front of the television, he decided it best to be agreeable—for the time being, anyway. “Whatever.”
“What do you want to drink?”
“Beer,” he said, and headed for the refrigerator to get it himself.
She put out a hand to stop him. “No alcoholic beverages.”
“Why not?”
She tapped a finger against her head. “Concussion, remember? No alcohol for at least forty-eight hours.”
He hitched his hands on his hips. “Says who?”
She pointed at a sheaf of papers lying on the corner of the island. “Doctor’s orders.”
He opened his mouth to tell her what she could do with his doctor’s orders, then clamped it shut.
“Doctor’s orders, my ass,” he muttered under his breath, as he headed outside. Okay, so he’d play their little game for a while, but then he was done. First thing Monday morning it was business as usual for Vince Donnelly.
“Here you go,” Sally said and slid a plate in front of him.
He looked down at the mountain of greens, then up at her. “What’s this?”
She sat opposite him and draped her napkin over her lap. “Baby spinach, broccoli florets, julienne red peppers with some grilled salmon tossed in. The dressing is my own concoction. Balsamic vinegar, virgin olive oil and a few spices.”
He shoved the plate away. “I hate salad.”
With a shrug, she popped a forkful of greens into her mouth. “That’s too bad, because that’s all there is to eat.”
Setting his jaw, he scraped back his chair and headed for the kitchen. He opened the pantry, the refrigerator, the freezer then stomped back to the door. “What the hell happened to all my food?”
She dabbed her mouth. “I threw it away.”
“You what?”
“My instructions included seeing that you ate nutritional meals.” She smiled and lifted her fork. “You really should try this. It’s pretty darn tasty, even if I do say so myself.”
Vince dropped his head back, in a silent plea for mercy. A weekend, he reminded himself. Less, since technically the weekend was half-over. His stomach chose that moment to growl, reminding him how long it had been since he’d eaten.
Scowling, he stomped back to the table and snatched his plate in front of him again. With his nose curled in disgust, he stabbed a spinach leaf and poked it into his mouth, chewed. His taste buds exploded, registering the tart, smoky flavor of the balsamic vinegar and the unfamiliar spices in the dressing. He forced himself to swallow, then waited, half expecting the food to come right back up. When it didn’t, he scooped up another bite, shoveled it into his mouth.
“Listen to that.”
He glanced up to find Sally staring off into the distance, her lips curved in a soft smile. He looked around. “What? I don’t hear anything.”
She patted the air to silence him. “Just listen.”
He scooped up more salad and listened while he chewed. “I still don’t hear anything.”
“Probably because you’re accustomed to hearing it. Water tumbling over stone, the rustle of wind through the trees. Nature’s own symphony.”
He cocked his head and listened a moment, then resumed eating. “If you say so.”
“Some people find the sounds of nature relaxing. In fact, there’s an entire section dedicated to it in music stores.”
He glanced up to see if she was pulling his leg. “Seriously?”
Hiding a smile, she sipped her water. “Obviously you’ve never had a massage.”
“What does a massage have to do with anything?”
“Sounds from nature are a staple at spas. Masseuses play them in the background when giving massages.”
With a shrug he attacked his salad again. “Learn something new every day.”
“What kind of music do you listen to?”
He considered a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t.”
“Don’t you ever turn the radio on in your car?”
“Yeah,
