Reed took me to the emergency room at New York–Presbyterian. He’d stepped out to take a phone call when the physician entered the room.
“The results of your X-ray indicate that it’s just a sprain. You’re very lucky, Miss Darling.” He handed the paperwork over to the attending nurse.
“So what do I need to do?”
“Keep off your feet for a couple of days. I’ll leave you with this boot and crutches.” He helped me slip my foot into the boot before making his way out of the room.
Reed passed the doctor on his way back in from the hallway.
“Would you mind helping me up off the bed?” I asked.
He looked down at my boot, then up at me. “Of course.”
“Thank you.”
He extended his hand. I took it, selfishly loving that I’d touched Reed more in the last two hours than I had in the entire time I’d known him. He looked particularly hot right now, too. His hair was a bit tousled, and he’d loosened his collar at the top. He’d come to Extreme Climb straight from work in his suit and bow tie, but over the course of the evening, he’d slowly come undone a little. I loved “undone” Reed.
“What did the doctor say?”
“He said it was a . . .” I hesitated, deciding to bend the truth. “He said that I needed to keep off my foot for at least a few . . . weeks. Maybe.” The nurse who’d been preparing my discharge paperwork gave me a look from behind Reed’s shoulders. She knew I was bullshitting but didn’t ruin it for me.
It was an impulsive decision to stretch the truth. I felt bad for lying about the time frame of my expected recovery, but I was able to justify it in my head because it was helping me get closer to Reed. I loved the attention I was getting from him and just wasn’t ready for it to end.
“Shit. Okay,” he said, rubbing his chin. “What can I do to help you?”
“You can drive me to my apartment.”
“Yeah. Alright. Let’s get you home.”
Reed looked around as we entered my place down in Soho. “This is nice. Very . . . homey.”
“The décor is shabby chic. Glad you like it.”
I didn’t believe him. My taste was subtle and feminine and so not Reed Eastwood. Although I’d never seen the inside of his place, I had my ideas about what it looked like: dark, sleek, and modern.
Even though my apartment was in the city, the décor was more country with light and airy colors. I had floral linen slipcovers on the sofas and matching custom draperies.
Reed seemed to be hesitant to make his way fully into my living room. He stopped a few feet short of the door.
“You can take as much time off work as you need,” he said.
“Thank you. But I still plan to make it in to work. I can just stay off my foot. I may need a ride into the office, though.”
“I can arrange that.” He slipped his hands into his pockets as he continued standing close to the entrance. “Are you hungry?”
“I can pick up some dinner and bring it back for you.”
“Will you stay and eat with me?”
“You need me to stay?”
“I feel like I do, yes. I don’t really feel like being alone.”
He looked pensive, then sighed. “Then I’ll stay for a little while.”
Letting out a breath, I said, “Thank you.”
“What are you in the mood for?”
“Anything is fine.”
“That’s not very helpful, Charlotte.”
“Just get what you like.”
Reed seemed frustrated with me and suddenly made his way toward my kitchen, which overlooked the living room.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Going to see what you have in your kitchen.”
Reed was rummaging through my cabinets. This felt surreal.
Reed is in my kitchen!
He took out angel hair pasta, a large can of peeled tomatoes, spices, and a jar of kalamata olives.
He looked behind his shoulder at me. “Do you have fresh garlic?”
“Yes. I keep it under the sink.”
“Red wine?”
“On the wine rack in the corner.”
“Okay, I can work with this.”
My eyes widened. “You’re really gonna cook?”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t see you as the cooking kind.”
“I didn’t see you as a rock climber.”
“Apparently I’m not a very good one.”
“You were doing fine . . . until you weren’t.” He looked back at me, flashed a rare yet genuine smile, then said, “I cook for myself quite a bit.”
“I’m impressed.”
“When I get home at night, I often don’t feel like going out again, so I’ve taught myself to cook. I enjoy it sometimes.”
I lay on the couch in my absolute glory, watching him move as he chopped with his sleeves rolled up. Every movement of his body was a delight for my eyes as he drizzled olive oil, stirred, and tossed the pasta in a pan. The robust aroma smelled so good, better than anything I’d ever smelled before in my kitchen. He’d cracked the window open, letting in a delicate, nighttime breeze. A twinge of sadness hit me. I’d truly missed having a man around, even though I’d certainly never had one who cooked for me. Todd would have just ordered takeout. Unlike my ex, Reed wasn’t afraid to roll up his sleeves, get his hands dirty. I was loving that about him.
I could see that he was plating two servings. “Should I come to the table?”
“No. Stay where you are. I’ll bring it to you.”
This night just kept getting better. Reed placed a glass of wine down on the coffee table and handed me my plate.
“This looks amazing. What is it?”
“My take on spicy pasta puttanesca. Hope you can handle a little heat.”
“I can handle more than a little.”
Reed cracked another smile. He was definitely loosening up.
“I should injure myself more often if it means getting this kind of treatment.” I winked.
He sat on the chair across from me. “I do feel partially responsible for your mishap, so I’m happy to do it.”
“You merely said my name. I was the one who freaked out seeing you there.”
He took a bite of pasta, then said, “We certainly incite very odd reactions in each other, don’t we?”
“Yes, but I enjoy it . . . even when you send me your little blue hate notes. I enjoy every minute of bickering with you.”
Reed stopped chewing for a moment. It almost looked like it pained him to hear me say that. He cleared his throat. “Let me get you a napkin.”
I stopped him from getting up. “No. I’m good.” He sat back down.
“You look like you want to say something, Charlotte.” Reed seemed to be able to tell that there was something on my mind.
There was. A question that had been eating away at me. It was none of my business, of course, but I would ask him anyway.
“Why was Allison calling you about a honeymoon you never took?”
Reed paused and placed his fork down, and it clinked on the plate. “We paid for all of the arrangements, and the resort wouldn’t give us our money back. They would only give us a credit for a stay at one of their locations. Allison has continuously insisted that I be the one to use it.”
“Because she ended it. So she feels like you deserve it?”
“Yes. Evidently the credit expires in three months. I couldn’t care less, and I don’t have the time. I told her to use it or let it expire.”
“Use it, Reed. Make the time.”
“I wouldn’t use that credit even if I had the time,” he snapped.
Come to think of it, I probably would’ve felt the same way if Todd and I had had a trip planned before everything crumbled. Given how strong Reed’s feelings for Allison were, it made sense that he wouldn’t want to go on what would have been their honeymoon. I suddenly felt bad for suggesting that he go.
“I get it. You’re right. I’m sorry for prying.”
He lifted his brow. “Are you?”
“Not really.” I smiled. “Even though I still don’t know what happened with her, because you won’t tell me, for the record, I think she made a huge mistake.”
“No, she didn’t. She dodged a bullet.” He suddenly got up and took my empty plate back to the kitchen.
Okay. What was that about?
It was a while before he returned to the living room. Reed walked over to the window and stared out of it for a bit before picking up one of my framed photos.
I reached for my crutches and made my way over to him.
“Are these your parents?” he asked. His back was toward me.
“What tipped you off? The jet-black hair?” I joked. “They are. Frank and Nancy Darling. Best parents I could have asked for.”
“They seem . . . like good people from this photo, but yes, clearly they look different from you.” He turned around to face me and surprised me when he said, “I noticed you added something interesting to your Fuck-It List the other day.”
“Spying on my list, are you?”
“What’s on my server is mine, Darling—with a big D. It’s not spying.”
“Yes, I did add something I’d been putting off.”
“You want to find out where you came from.”
I knew that addition to my list was a lot different from all the others. Lately, figuring out exactly who I am had become somewhat of a focus for me. I’d lost a little of myself when I was with Todd—trying to fit into his career, his lifestyle, his hobbies, instead of what made me happy. And I couldn’t exactly figure out who I am without knowing where I’d come from.
“Someday, I would like to, yes. I added it on there, even though that one is really more bucket-list than fuck-it-list material. Not exactly something I can bang out in a day, nor is it necessarily one of the more enjoyable items for me.”
“Well, I think it’s brave. Whoever they are . . . they would be amazed to see how you turned out.”
“Thank you. And here I was thinking you just thought I was nuts.”
“You are nuts . . . but you have a lot of endearing qualities, too.”
“Thank you.”
A few moments of silence passed before he asked, “How much do you know about the day you were found?”
“You can Google ‘Saint Andrew’s Church Baby Poughkeepsie.’ You’ll find all the information in old news reports. And that’s about as much as I know. It was quite newsworthy at the time. But to this day, no one knows who left me there.”
“That’s fascinating.”
“I guess.”
Reed could sense that I didn’t really want to talk about it and changed the subject. It was probably the only thing in my life that I wasn’t eager to discuss. Deep down, I knew I had abandonment issues. But living in denial was always easier than addressing them.
“So, where do you do your sculpting?”
I grabbed my crutches and angled my head for him to follow me. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
“You shouldn’t be moving around,” he scolded.
“It’s fine.”
I led him to what technically used to be my bedroom. Reed looked stunned to find that it wasn’t really a bedroom anymore at all.
A sheet lay over the floor. A pottery wheel sat in the center of the room. My bed, which was covered with junk, was pushed against the wall. Surrounding shelves held both painted and unpainted pieces.
“Where do you sleep?”
“The sofa in the living room turns into a very nice bed. Recently, I’ve turned my room into an art space. Someday I’ll get to have a bedroom and a pottery room, but for now this is how it has to be.”
He wandered around, gazing at my pieces. “You obviously made all of these?”
“Yup.”
“You mentioned once you went to college for art?”
“I went to Rhode Island School of Design in Providence for a year. But I ended up dropping out.”
“I realized that part of the beauty of being an artist is not having pressure put on you to create. And when that pressure was put on me, that was where my creativity basically ended. I sort of like to just throw raw clay on the wheel and see what happens. A bowl often unexpectedly transforms into a vase and vice versa. Sometimes my work turns into a useless piece of junk, and other times, something beautiful.”
“Like the one I caused you to break that you made for Iris. That was one of the nice ones, wasn’t it?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“That figures.” He smiled. Reed’s smile was like a gift. It was rare, but when it happened, it totally consumed me for as many seconds as it lasted. “Do you have a favorite piece?” he asked.
“You’d be surprised.” I moved slowly over to the corner of the room to pick up a small bowl. “This one, actually. It doesn’t seem like much at first, but if you look closely and become familiar with it, you see it’s perfectly balanced. Small, not flashy but colorful. Really exquisite.”
“Yes,” he said, looking deeply into my eyes. The temperature in the room felt like it was rising. “I honestly had no idea that you were this skilled. It’s very impressive.”
“Wow, I’ve impressed Reed Eastwood.”
“It’s not easy to do.”
“It’s not.”
Reed’s normally hardened expression had gone totally soft. His eyes were searching mine, and I felt something indescribable yet very strong between us in that moment. His body was close, and it felt like he could’ve easily leaned in and kissed me. Maybe that was just because I wanted him to kiss me so badly. Tonight we’d reached a level of intimacy that hadn’t existed before. Perhaps that made the physical need even more intense.
I could feel his breath a little when he said, “You’d better go sit down and get off your foot.”
