“I’m okay,” I said before he even got to me on the couch.
He fell to his knees, and his gaze swept across me, trying to take in everything at once. “But you’re not okay,” he said, his frown deepening as he took the ice off my arm, and his finger traced the bruised skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. “God, my heart won’t stop pounding.” His breathing was harsh and raspy like he’d just run a marathon.
“Relax, Mattie.”
Charity stood up from the chair across the room. “She’s better since I got her home and put some ice on her arm.”
Mathias twisted around to face her. “Thanks for being there, Charity.”
“It was my fault we were out there,” she said, squeezing my ankle. “But she assured me it could have happened anywhere.”
“Thanks for helping me get home,” I said, offering her a smile. “I’ll see you for dress shopping this week?”
“Absolutely, as long as you’re feeling up to it.”
“I’ll be fine in a few minutes,” I promised, waving as she patted Mathias on the shoulder and headed for the front door.
“I was so scared,” he said, falling to his butt. “What if Charity hadn’t been there when you had the seizure and no one found you?”
“Mattie, you have to relax.”
He stroked the hair back off my forehead and gazed into my eyes like he was trying to decide if what I said was true. “I wish I could, but I wasn’t there.”
He stroked my cheek tenderly with so much fear in his baby blues that I finally took his hand and held it to my chest. “And you’re not always going to be there,” I reminded him. “Sometimes this is going to happen when you aren’t with me.”
His other hand went into his hair, and he let out a breath. “What happened to your arm?”
“I was a little bit out of it and caught my toe in a tree root. I fell into a small tree and bruised it. I’m fine. Just relax.”
“We should have it looked at,” he said, running his thumb over the bruise. “It might be broken.”
“No,” I said immediately. “It doesn’t even hurt. Charity insisted on the ice to keep it from bruising more.”
“Did you take your medications when you got back?” he asked with a sigh, like he didn’t believe me but knew there was no point in arguing.
“Yeah, Charity got them for me, and we were able to keep the headache at bay. Where were you when she called? It didn’t take you long to get here.”
“I was at the orchard getting dinner. We must have just missed each other.”
I sat up slowly to make sure the world didn’t start spinning from the medication I’d taken without much to eat. “Did you get food? I’m starving.”
He grinned and helped me up. “I did. Cattleman’s steak and fried potatoes with those little peppers you love so much.”
I leaned into him when he put his arm around my waist and helped me to the patio. “You remembered that I love the little peppers?”
He chuckled while he helped me sit at the table. “It would be hard not to the way you went on about them last time. You could have been a walking commercial for the Apple Orchard. Sit tight; I’ll get the food.” He kissed my lips with a short peck most unexpectedly and ran his hand under my chin and across my cheek on his way back to the house.
My fingers at my lips, I stared out over the backyard, my mind in turmoil. That was common after a seizure, but tonight was different. Tonight, I saw Mathias’s turmoil, and that was confusing. He’d been hands-off for the last week, but as soon as Charity called that I’d had a seizure, he came racing back. Did that mean as long as I portrayed the image of beingnormalorindependent,that he would stay hands-off? Did he only want to explore what we could be together when I was vulnerable so that he felt like we were on an even playing field emotionally?
He slid a plate in front of me, and I smiled up at him before digging into the food while he did the same. I thought back to that first kiss in the orchard. Had I been vulnerable that night? My head shook as I swallowed a bite of steak. No. I was fine, which meant one thing. His hot and cold swings were driven byhisvulnerability and not mine.
“It’s beautiful tonight,” he said, leaning back in his chair with his glass of wine. “I’m glad Charity stopped over today. I know she’s been dying to see the place.”
I grimaced at his words. “I know, and I feel terrible for not inviting her over sooner. The good news is, she loved the house.”
“Good. What else did you talk about?” He said it as if he already knew.
“Well”—I eyed him—”she asked me to be her maid of honor. She said Gulliver’s brother is going to be his best man.”
