“Everything’s fine!” I responded quickly, kneeling on the tile floor next to the mess and trying to gather the broken pieces.
“Huh, causing trouble already, city girl? What a surprise.”
I tipped my head back, my eyes meeting the intense gaze above me. His expression was harsh, his jaw sharp and clenched so tight I thought he was going to crack a molar.
Gone was the smile I’d seen a moment ago. Gone was the laugh I’d heard.
This was the same version of the man I’d met on my first day and the version who had come barreling down the steps of his dock. The attraction flew out the window, or at least I wanted it to. Becausethisman in front of me wasn’t someone I wanted to give another thought.
A warm flush spread over my face—not because of him, but because I’d created more work for Hal with the mess.
“It was an accident,” I said through gritted teeth, looking up at him. I hadn’t backed down before, and I wasn’t going to now. “And I’m trying to clean up the mess so Hal doesn’t have to.”
“You should’ve asked one of us for help getting this down.”
“Because you’re so willing to help me?” I asked with a scoff. “Gosh, I wonder why I didn’t ask. I’m fine. I can clean this up myself and take care of it on my own. I don’t need your help, so if you could?—”
As we were talking—arguing—I continued grabbing pieces of broken ceramic without looking. Which was a mistake.
“Shit,” I hissed, finally looking down and seeing the blood dripping down my hand. I’d cut the palm of my hand on one of the sharp jagged pieces.
His eyes flicked down to see where I was looking. “Goddamn it,” he grumbled when he spotted the blood. “C’mon, I think Hal has a first-aid kit in the back.” He extended his large hand to help me up, and I stared at it for a beat, so ready to argue with him that I could take care of this on my own. I decided against it because, for once, Icoulduse his help. My hand was stinging, and I needed a way to stop the blood.
I set my other hand in his, slowly standing.
“Hal, I’m going to take Juliette to the back. She hurt her hand,” he called over the aisles to the older man.
“Do you have to scream it to the whole store?” I hissed under my breath to him.
“I think the whole store heard what happened when the ceramic pot hit the floor, plus it’s just the three of us here, anyway,” he muttered back as we waited for Hal’s response.
“Everything you should need is in a box in my desk drawer, Wesley,” Hal responded. “You doing alright, Miss Jules?”
At least now I knew his name.Wesley.
“I’m okay, Hal. Thanks for asking.”
We first went to the store’s single-person restroom where Wesley instructed me to rinse my hand with cold water and use paper towels to apply gentle pressure so the bleeding would stop. He watched, and when I met his eyes in the mirror, I swore his brows furrowed in concern for a split second.
We then stepped into Hal’s office—or what Hal claimed to be his office. The tiny room had one window, a desk, and two chairs. Hal had pictures on the walls, similarly to how he did up front, and various tools spread out on his desk.
“Go ahead and take a seat.” Wesley nodded toward the office chair. I didn’t know why, but every time this man spoke, I wanted to do the opposite of what he said. I listened, though. He was helping me, after all.
I got comfortable in the chair and looked around the office while Wesley opened the desk drawer, pulling out a red first-aid kit. He grabbed antibiotic ointment and a bandage.
He moved around the desk and kneeled in front of me. “Lay your hand so your palm is facing up.”
I rested the back of my hand on the top of my thigh, palm facing up, and removed the paper towels to expose the cut.
Wesley had washed his hands before we left the bathroom, and he reached for my hand, his large fingers tenderly examining my injury. He let out a quiet sigh. He seemed relieved. “Doesn’t look as bad as I thought. Not saying it doesn’t hurt, but it looked worse with the blood. Cleaning it helped.” He twisted off the cap of the ointment, and seconds before he was about to spread the cream on my wound, I pulled my hand away slightly.
“It’s going to hurt, isn’t it?” I asked, my body already anticipating the sharp stinging and pain that would follow, even though I knew the ointment was necessary. My other hand wrapped tightly around the chair’s armrest.
“It’ll sting,” Wesley started slowly, “but it’ll help if you focus your mind on something else. You can also look away if you have to.”
I didn’t expect his voice to sound so tender, so caring, so patient. It was such a sharp contrast to what I was used to with him. Slowly, I nodded and extended my hand back toward him. He met my eyes, looking at me as if he was asking permission. I nodded again, and he dipped his head down to tend to my injury.
I focused on his calloused touch, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, and how carefully he spread the ointment over the cut. I focused on how delicately his large hands touched mine, and I realized I’d never had a man be this gentle with me, this caring. And how depressing was that? That I couldn’t picture any of my ex-boyfriends tending to me this way. Instead, my grumpy neighbor, who wanted nothing to do with me, was the one to make sure I was okay.
