IT TOOK TWO days for his fever to finally come down. He slept most of the time, and each time he opened his eyes Harriet was there, checking his temperature, refreshing his water, reminding him to take his medication, rubbing his back when he was racked by coughing. Everything ached and moving from the bed seemed like an impossible task. Given that all he was doing was sleeping, he was surprised by how much he liked having her there. He wasn’t used to having anyone else living in the apartment, let alone hovering in his bedroom. Usually he prized the silence, but not only was he fairly sure he wouldn’t have bothered to drink anything had she not been there to hand it to him, she also created a level of background noise he found oddly comforting.
Occasionally she’d leave the room and through the drifting mist of sleep he’d hear her downstairs, talking to Madi or clattering in the kitchen. The dog adored her and followed her everywhere, and it wasn’t hard to see why.
Harriet was calm, her presence soothing. Anyone would feel better around her.
Over the past forty-eight hours, even hidden behind a fog of fever, he’d learned a lot about her.
He’d learned that she sang when she cooked, that when she spoke to a client about a dog she always asked after them too. She knew them all. What they’d been doing. What their problems were. And he heard her talking to her sister and knew she was fielding questions she didn’t want to answer. He learned that although she didn’t seem to lie, she was more than capable of being evasive.
He’d hear an mmm and a maybe and an occasional how are we twins when we’re so different?, but he hadn’t heard her mention him since that night he’d gone down with the flu and been too sick to question what he’d overheard.
And being ill had taught him another thing about her.
It had taught him that Harriet Knight was the kindest person he’d ever met.
He drifted off to sleep again and when he woke in the evening, two days after he’d all but dragged himself into his bed, delicious smells were wafting up the stairs. It was dark outside and the snow fell steadily outside his window. He felt a twinge of guilt, because he knew the emergency room would be busy, his colleagues having to pull together to find a way to fill the hole created by his absence.
“You’re awake.” Harriet appeared in the doorway, as she had done hundreds of times over the past few days. She’d taken a shower and changed into jeans and a soft sweater.
Ethan had to fight the urge to pull her into bed with him. “What’s that amazing smell?”
“It’s Madi’s dinner.” She topped up his water glass and must have seen the disappointment on his face because she gave a half smile. “I’m kidding. It’s chicken soup. My grandmother’s recipe. It’s perfect for tempting the appetite in people who aren’t well. I used to look forward to being sick so she would make this soup for me. And before you start reading too much into that, I should tell you it’s my favorite soup. I made it for myself.”
He knew that wasn’t true.
Food, he realized now, was her way of showing care and love. He also knew that if he didn’t play his cards right, he wouldn’t be eating the soup.
“So you’re not planning on sharing it?”
“Maybe.” She held the glass out. “Drink. You’re dehydrated.”
Everything she did was calm and quiet, from the way she moved around the room, to the way she did what she could to make things better for him.
Her generosity floored him. He knew he was miserly with his feelings. He kept them inside, safe from harm. It was part of the mechanism he’d developed to protect him from the job. He’d learned to keep his emotions locked away, but there were times when he wondered whether he’d maybe done too good a job. In order to stay focused and effective he didn’t let himself feel. When he was younger, before experience and older colleagues had given him more wisdom, he’d allowed his job to get to him. He’d reached a point where he was considering a change in career, but before he’d made the final decision he’d gone home for the weekend and talked with his parents and grandfather.
He’d come away from that weekend feeling supported and, more importantly, with some useful strategies for coping with the inevitable stress of his profession.
He remembered whole weekends growing up when his father would barely talk. His mother would never ask what was wrong. Instead she was a quiet, supportive presence, providing what comfort she could while his father worked through whatever trauma or issue was bothering him. She hadn’t demanded that he cheer up, or that he talk about whatever it was that was stressing him. But she’d made it clear that she was there if he needed her.
Harriet had the same soothing, undemanding quality.
It crossed his mind that her good nature and kindness would make her an easy person to take advantage of, and he felt a shaft of discomfort, wondering if that was what he’d been doing. First he’d pressured her to move in and look after Madi, and now she was looking after him.
And she was looking after him a bit too well.
She’d barely left his side for the past few days and now she’d cooked him a meal.
“Chicken soup? Homemade from an actual chicken?” He took the glass, noticing that her nails were short and neat.
“It’s hard to make chicken soup from any other animal.”
“When did you go shopping?”
“Earlier. You were asleep. I had to take Madi out anyway.” She dismissed it as nothing and knowing that he was the reason she felt the need to do that, he felt a stab of guilt.
“Is Madi all right?”
“Better than you. Do you still have a fever?”
He noticed that she asked him this time, instead of touching his forehead to find out for herself. She didn’t look at him much, either. Something had changed and he wasn’t sure what. “I’m feeling better. Thanks to you.”
“It had nothing to do with me. It was a combination of medication, sleep and time.”
It was partly true, but he knew that her working so hard to keep his fever down and make him comfortable had played a huge part in his recovery. She’d been patient and kind when he’d felt like death and he made a mental note to be more sympathetic next time a patient visited the emergency room with the flu.
He tried to stand up, frustrated that his legs still felt as if they’d been filled with concrete. Cursing, he sank back down onto the edge of the bed again. “Who invented flu?”
“Someone who decided that even a confident man needs to be laid low once in a while. It’s good for you to be reminded that you’re not all-powerful.”
Powerful?
If he’d had the energy, he would have laughed out loud.
She hesitated for a fraction of a second and then stepped toward him. “Do you need help?”
He probably could have managed, but he didn’t tell her that. Instead he put his arm round her shoulders and leaned on her. She smelled of strawberry and sunshine. Unable to help himself he leaned in a little closer, his attention caught by the golden sheen of her hair.
She turned her head to look at him and the movement caused her hair to brush against his cheek and suddenly he found it hard to breathe.
Her eyes held his in wordless communication.
Sexual awareness rippled through him, the sudden tension in the atmosphere closing in like a force field. The room, the outside world, faded into the background. There was only her.
He knew he should pull back. He knew this was dangerous, but he couldn’t bring himself to be the one to break the connection.
He had to remind himself of all the things she’d said to him in the dark of the night. About how she’d wanted a relationship and Eric hadn’t.
Harriet deserved the best, and he knew for sure he wasn’t the best.
“What are you doing?” Her face was so close to his that all he could see was the blue of her eyes.
“I’m leaning on you. You offered.” And her mouth was right there. Right there.
But her mouth wasn’t on offer. None of her was. Not to him.
“Are you sure you’re not capable of walking by yourself?”
“Definitely not.” He staggered a bit to prove his point, knowing that he was taking advantage of her good nature.
By the time they reached the bathroom he felt as if he needed to lie down for a month. That, he thought, was his punishment for pretending to be weaker than he was. Now he really did feel as weak as he’d pretended to feel.
He braced his arm against the door frame, frustrated by the lethargy that threatened to floor him. “I’m not sure I can make it downstairs to eat.”
“No worries. I’ll bring it up on a tray.” She touched his face with her palm, her eyes warm with sympathy. “Do you feel horrid?”
“Yes.” And that was probably a good thing, he thought, or he might have done something he would definitely have regretted later.
The moment she sensed weakness, she lowered the barriers.
It was the only good thing about being ill.
He took a shower and when he walked back into the bedroom she was standing there holding a tray.
“Chair or bed?”
Unable to help himself, he gave her a wicked smile. “Which would you prefer?”
She gave him a look that made him wonder if she’d ever taught kindergarten. “I can walk out anytime and take my soup with me.”
“Bed.” He slid back under the covers and she placed the tray on his legs, the weight of it pressing down through the covers. “Stay and talk. I promise to behave.”
“I have to do my accounts.”
“If you’re prioritizing accounts over me then I’m truly put in my place.”
“I don’t want to do them, but I have to. Honestly, I hate it. I’m not good at it. Fliss is.”
He picked up the spoon. “Then why not let her do it?”
“Because she can do it easily and I can’t.” She said it as if it was obvious.
“Why do something you’re not good at, if it’s a strength of your sister’s?”
“Challenge Harriet.”
“There’s a difference between doing something that scares you, and something that doesn’t play to your skills.” He took a mouthful of soup and closed his eyes. “This is incredible.”
“I’ll pass your compliments to my grandmother.”
“Tell me about her.”
“She has a beautiful beach house in the Hamptons.” She sat down on the chair, but on the edge as if she hadn’t quite decided whether to stay or not. “We used to spend the summer with her. It was my favorite time.”
“Because you love the beach?”
“Because my father wasn’t there.”
He thought about the summers he’d spent with his father, and how much he’d taken the stability of their family life for granted.
“Your childhood was difficult. It’s not surprising you want a peaceful family life now.”
“I’d rather be on my own than with the wrong person. Or someone who doesn’t love you. That’s worse, I think. That’s the situation my parents were in.” A strand of hair slid forward and curved round her cheek. “I wish I’d known a bit more about their situation when I was growing up. It might have helped me understand.”
“You think that excuses your father’s behavior?”
“No. But I think it helps explain it. I used to think it was about me. But now I see it was about him.”
Judging from her unhappy expression, that revelation hadn’t brought her a whole lot of comfort.
“Tell me about summers with your grandmother.”
“It was easy being with her. Grams never minded if my words stuck in my mouth, if I wasn’t fluent. She waited until I’d said whatever it was I wanted to say. With her I felt normal. And summers there were the way I’d always imagined a family should be. Lots of laughter, friendly arguing, no tension. When I was with her, I didn’t feel like the disappointment of the family.”
“That’s how you felt?”
“It was hard not to. Daniel and Fliss were both brilliant at everything. They always had top marks. Fliss used to scribble her assignments on the school bus and she’d get an A every time. I’d work for hours, with help, and still only get a B. I’ve always had to try harder than everyone else.”
“But you didn’t feel like that with your grandmother?”
“She made sure we spent time together. She was the one who taught me to cook. It made me feel special. When you’re a twin, you’re often lumped together as if you’re one person. It’s ‘you girls,’ or ‘the two of you.’ It’s hard to be an individual, particularly when you look identical to someone else.”
“Did the two of you ever switch places and fool people?”
“Occasionally. I’m a terrible liar, so fooling people was never something I was good at.”
He noticed the way she used her hands when she talked, and the way her face lit up when she talked about her grandmother.
There was so much more to Harriet Knight than was visible on first acquaintance.
And he wanted to know more.
“Surely you didn’t only cook in the Hamptons. What happened when you were at home in New York?”
“I spent as much time in my room as I could.”
That revealing statement told him everything he needed to know about her childhood.
It made him want to hold her and wipe out the memories.
“Your grandmother taught you well.” He finished his soup and put the spoon down.
“Can I ask you something?”
It occurred to him that Harriet Knight was the only woman he knew who would seek permission to ask him something that was obviously going to be uncomfortable.
“After making soup like that you can ask me anything.” And because of the shine in her blue eyes, and the way she was looking at him.
“Will you agree to be Santa?”
Of all the questions he’d anticipated, that hadn’t been on the list.
“Why do you care?”
“I think it would be wonderful.”
“Are you offering to dress up as my elf?”
“If you’d like me to.”
“It’s Christmas Day. Don’t you have anything better to do on Christmas Day? Aren’t you seeing your sister? Your brother?”
“Not this year. Daniel is going away with Molly, and Fliss is spending Christmas with Seth’s folks. I’m staying by myself.” She said it brightly, as if she couldn’t imagine anything more exciting than being on her own for the holidays.
He felt a stab of anger. “They didn’t invite you?”
“Oh yes, they invited me. But I’ve never spent a Christmas without them before and I thought I should.”
She’d chosen to spend Christmas on her own? He was trying to understand why someone like her would do a thing like that, when the answer came to him.
“Challenge Harriet?”
“Yes.”
It didn’t sound like a challenge to him. It sounded brutal. “Harriet, this is—” He broke off and started again. “Why deprive yourself of family, when family is so important to you?”
“That’s why.” She stood up. “Because I need to know I can survive by myself.”
Survival sounded like a pretty brutal goal too.
Telling himself it was none of his business, he changed the subject. “My sister is coming tomorrow to pick up Madi. I’m hoping to be back at work.”
“Ethan, you could barely walk to the bathroom.”
“I’ll take a cab to the hospital.”
“I don’t know much about the ER, but I assume the doctors aren’t supposed to be sicker than the patients.”
“I’m improving by the hour. My cough is better. By tomorrow I’ll be fine.”
She opened her mouth as if she intended to argue, and then closed it again. “Great. If you tell me what time I’ll make sure I’m here when they arrive. And I’ll move out after that.”
He had no idea why the prospect of that made him feel disappointed. “No hurry.”
She paused, her hands on the tray, a strand of hair sliding forward. “If Madi isn’t here, why would I stay?”
It was a fair question.
Because his apartment was a whole lot nicer with her in it?
Because having her around lifted his mood?
Because she was gorgeous?
Any one of those replies would have earned him one of her questioning looks, so he didn’t give voice to any of them.
“All I meant was that you don’t need to rush off. There’s no pressure. I’m grateful for what you’ve done. Move at your convenience.”
“Right.” She straightened and picked up his tray without looking at him. “I’ll do that.”
MONDAY MORNING CAME too quickly.
Harriet packed her things into her case with the same absence of enthusiasm she’d felt when she’d packed to come here, which made no sense. She’d moved in as a favor to a client and for Madi. Her services were no longer needed.
Crazy as it was to admit it, she’d enjoyed the weekend. Crazy and a little selfish maybe, because Ethan had been sick. There had been something comforting about being just the two of them, closeted in his apartment while snow fell outside the window. It was as if they’d stepped out of their lives for a moment and inhabited a different world.
She was disappointed that it was over. She’d enjoyed the quietness of it, the coziness.
Oh who was she kidding?
She’d also enjoyed spending all that time with him. She’d enjoyed their conversation, those shared glances, the way it felt when his fingers brushed against hers and the way his gaze followed her round the room.
And then there was that moment when he’d leaned on her a little too heavily. She’d been convinced he was about to kiss her, but he hadn’t.
Why?
She zipped her case with so much vigor she almost broke it.
A man like Ethan Black didn’t hang around asking for permission. If he’d wanted to kiss her he would have done it.
She wished he had.
“Ugh.” Cross with herself, she hauled her suitcase to the door.
She’d come here to do a job, and she’d done that job.
Time to go home.
Time to get on with her real life. Not her dream life.
She was going to miss Madi. The dog was adorable. Bouncy, fun and endlessly affectionate.
But most of all she was going to miss Ethan.