Stephanie Bond - Cover Me

“Tell me about the nursing home fire,” the writer said to Sam.

“I was in town picking up supplies. I drove by the nursing home, saw the smoke, and called 911. But the building is an old wooden structure, so I knew I couldn’t stand by and wait for the fire truck to arrive.”

“What did you do?”

“I had my gear in the back of my pickup—”

“He drives a pickup,” April whispered. “Isn’t that exotic?”

“Shh,” I hissed.

“—so I began the evacuation.”

“You make it sound routine,” the writer said.

“It was,” Sam said easily, “until some of the patients became confused. I went in and led them to safety.”

“Again, you’re very blasé about it.”

Sam shrugged. “I’m not trying to make light of a serious situation, but I only did what anyone would have done under the circumstances. I’m just very glad that everyone is okay.”

“Correction,” April said with a moan. “I know I’m in love.”

I might have been ready to swoon myself, if I hadn’t been wound up as tight as a twisted rubber band. I looked at my watch, willing the hands to speed along. Every minute I spent in this man’s company, I grew more and more antsy. I couldn’t look at him, and I couldn’t look away. I vacillated between wishing last night had never happened, and wishing it could happen again—which was absurd. Oh, sure, the more the man talked, the more I admired him. But the more he revealed about his life, the more he painted a picture of a world vastly different than mine. Plus my body’s defense mechanisms had kicked in—my nose ran and my eyes watered painfully. Still, snatches of scenes from the night before replayed in my mind, as if I were pushing a feel-good button over and over.

By the time the session ended, I was a mess. I was tempted to bail on joining them for lunch, but April was so worked up after Sam put on a fire helmet and yellow jacket from the props department, I was afraid she might set herself on fire just to get him to douse her with something. Besides, Sam would be leaving after lunch, so our time together was almost up. And I had to admit that a small part of me was hoping I would get to talk to him in private, to say…well, something brilliant, I hoped.

“I need to drop by my office to get my bag,” I said.

“I’ll go with you,” Sam said.

April looked at us suspiciously.

My mind raced. “Yes…and I’ll take you to speak with Helena about the cover.”

We maintained a tense silence as we stepped off the elevator and April reluctantly veered toward her office with the promise to meet us in twenty minutes. I counted, and he waited a full six seconds before breaking the silence with a hammer.

“Was this a setup?”

I stared. Of all the things I’d imagined he’d say when we were alone, that wasn’t on the list. “Excuse me?”

“Did you know who I was when you saw me last night?”

“What? No!” My nervousness fled and irritation landed on my head. “Trust me, no one was more surprised than I was when you walked into that meeting this morning.”

His expression was wry. “‘Trust me,’ says the woman who pilfered my dress shirt.”

I crossed my arms. “I left you…something.”

“I know. And while they were lovely and special, I couldn’t very well wear them to the meeting.”

A flush started at my knees and worked its way up. The elevator doors opened and three people alighted, talking amongst themselves. I lowered my voice. “Let’s continue this discussion in my office, shall we?”

I led him to my office and waves of humiliation rolled over me as I gestured for him to step inside the cramped closet-sized space. There was barely room for the both of us and my desk. I don’t know that I would have consciously remembered the musky clean scent of him, but when it reached my nose, my body responded like one of Pavlov’s dogs. His smile wavered and I had the feeling that he, too, was remembering how intensely our bodies had connected last night. I tried to remember what we had been talking about in the hall, but I seemed to have left my brain out there. Absently, I reached up to play with my shirt collar, and remembered.

“I’m sorry about taking your shirt. I overslept and my blouse was stained, and I…”

His eyes danced. “Didn’t want everyone to know you hadn’t been home?”

I shrugged, cheeks flaming. “I guess I’m not very good at…this.”

“Don’t worry about the shirt,” he said, giving it a once-over. “Even stained, it never looked so good.”

My mouth went dry.

“I could get used to having you around.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

He gestured to my pristine desk and hanging file system. “My home office is a wreck. I need your organization skills.”

“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Listen, Dr.—Sam. You have to believe me that I didn’t know who you were when I…met you last night.”

He pulled on his chin. “Okay. What happened to the science project?”

I involuntarily glanced toward my purse, then back.

He followed my glance. “So you took that, too.”

I squirmed. “It was my birthday present, after all.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He picked up my favorite pen lying on my desk and studied it with little-boy fascination. “And did it turn out…accurately?”

I bit the inside of my cheek to suppress my smile. Samuel Long, Cornell grad, veterinarian and bona fide hero, was still a man. “I’d say that it is a reasonable facsimile.”

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