this is perfect. If I’m still in this room tomorrow, maybe I can have someone at Red deliver us another meal. I owe you one now.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
That’s not the way he saw it. If not for Leah, he might have gone stir-crazy weeks ago.
They finished their meals in silence, but that didn’t mean Javier’s mind wasn’t going a jillion miles an hour—plotting and planning—much like it used to do before the injury.
Finally he said, “I’m going to be transferred to the rehab unit within the next couple of days.”
She paused, her fork in midmotion. Her pretty eyes, a whiskey shade of hazel, widened. Then she smiled. “That’s good news. You’re getting closer to being able to go home. I bet you can’t wait.”
He wanted to leave the hospital; that was a given. But he wasn’t keen on the idea of never seeing Leah again.
Why had she done all of this for him? And on her day off?
He could read all kinds of things into her effort to surprise him, he supposed. But he wouldn’t. Instead, he planned to enjoy the meal and the nurse who’d brought a bit of sunshine on a mundane day, the beautiful Florence Nightingale who’d provided him with a taste of the real world he was about to reenter.
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