with her ability to see straight. Undecided, Harriet changed direction at the precise moment Matteo’s very obviously intended cheek kiss landed squarely on her lightly parted lips.
Everything inside her responded to his touch.
Her entire bloodstream surged and performed a ready-for-Vegas dance routine. Had he stayed there...his lips tasting hers...just a little longer than one would for an accidental snog? Or had she made that up? Fact and fiction were blurring at a rate of knots.
She pulled back and instantly wanted more. Matteo was giving his chin a scrub, a curious expression playing across his features. Had she just grown antlers? Insecurity began to unfurl its fingers through her. If this was how things worked in Argentina, she was definitely going to stay right in England where a handshake was a handshake and cheek kisses were precisely what they said on the label.
She tugged her hand from his, took an unnecessary glance at her watch and backed into her office. Keeping her eye on the prey. Enemy? Something like that.
“I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.” Matteo stepped back, wondering what the hell had possessed him to give a spontaneous kissing lesson. No one got under his skin and yet...
Harriet gave a nervous laugh and ducked farther into the confines of her office.
No bets on that one. Matteo knew himself enough to know he’d wanted to be close to Harriet, had wanted to touch her. Just a couple of hours wandering around the hospital together and he’d felt a connection he rarely felt. Something genuine. Something real. Not the confident, rule-setting guy who flew to conferences to show his wares in exchange for shiny new clinics. The Matteo whose heart was every bit as much a part of the Casitas as Harriet’s was with St. Nick’s. The part that was searching for...enough and having no idea where to find it.
“I guess I’ll see you at the hall?” She shifted from foot to foot, not unlike a skittish colt.
“Yes, perfect.” He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a wodge of papers he’d folded and refolded into ever-decreasing squares. “I’ve got all of the details here. What do you call it? The bumph?”
Harriet smiled, a little dimple he hadn’t noticed before appearing in her cheek. It made her appear pretty and vulnerable all at once, bringing out a protectiveness in him he hadn’t felt for a woman in a long, long time.
“Yes. The bumph. Well done. You’re going to have to teach me Argentinian lingo—”
“Spanish? No problem. Dinner afterwards?”
“Uh...I don’t know about that.”
“Of course you do. Come to dinner with me after the lectures and we can toast your public speaking success.”
“I’m not so sure—”
“Sister, can you come?” A nurse knocked and stuck her head in the door, her face looking strained with worry. “It’s Cora.”
“Is she seizing?” Harriet scooted round him and was in the corridor in an instant.
“SFS. She says she tastes pickles and has the seasick feeling. She won’t move until you come.”
Matteo didn’t even stop to think. He followed Harriet to the play area the nurse indicated. A simple focal seizure could quickly lead to another much more dramatic attack. Grand mal seizures weren’t uncommon.
“Does she usually have a stage two?”
“Yes.” Harriet kept up the quick pace. “Childhood absence. Unresponsive to voice, automatisms. Eyelid flickering and some lip smacking,” she explained.
“So nothing violent?” Matteo matched her stride for stride.
“No.” She shook away her own answer. “She’s had one tonic-clonic, but overall she’s been responding well to meds.”
“Sodium valproate?”
“In combination with lamotrigine. It seems to work well for her. We wanted to steer clear of phenobarbital and phenytoin.”
“Adverse affects on cognitive development?”
Harriet nodded. They’d both clearly read the same studies.
Harriet headed towards a skinny little redhead standing in the center of the play area.
“Hey there, Cora.” Harriet’s tone was soft as she gently lowered herself to the girl’s eye level. Matteo nodded approvingly at how Harriet moved—careful not to give the girl any rapid movements to take in. If she was already feeling unwell, too much commotion could make her feel worse. “What do you say we get you to your bed?”
“I don’t feel well.” Cora’s gaze remained static on the wall.
“I know, sweetheart. That’s why I’m here. Shall we get you to your bed?”
“I’m too dizzy.”
“How about I put my hands on your eyes for a bit and you think of your bed?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Harriet shifted behind Cora. “I’m going to do it now, Cora. All right?”
“Okay.” The girl’s voice was tiny and frightened. The more stressed she became, the more likely another seizure was.
“Matteo.” Harriet’s voice was a near whisper. “Could you grab that chair, please?” She nodded towards a well-worn wing chair with high sides and a deep seat.
“Absolutely.”
Harriet moved to the side, fingers still covering Cora’s eyes, as Matteo brought the chair round—aiming it at a portion of the wall that contained a single horizontal line. When Cora felt well enough to focus her eyes on something, that line could help. Another one of Harriet’s touches? He wouldn’t be surprised.
“All right, sweetheart. Ready to sit down? We’ve got Christopher here.”
Matteo shot her a questioning look. Christopher?
Harriet nodded at the chair. Apparently it was called Christopher.
His instinct was to laugh but common sense caught up with him as they each took hold of one of Cora’s arms and guided her into the chair. The girl was feeling panicked, needed her eyes closed, and required reassurance all at once. If she knew she was going to settle back into Christopher, it would be reassuring. Simple. Clever. He was pretty certain he knew who had thought up the idea and couldn’t stop a big ‘Aha!” smile from forming as they tucked Cora into the chair along with a couple of throw pillows so she’d feel extra cozy and safe.
A few minutes later, Cora was feeling much better and asked Harriet to take her to her room for a rest.
After she’d been tucked into her bed, they each took a side of the door frame to lean on and watch her for a bit, with Harriet making a few notes in Cora’s chart. When she’d finished, Harriet looked across at Matteo, their eyes meeting with a look of mutual understanding. She was much more than an academic. He’d been quick off the mark to slot her into a “books and flowcharts
