“The storm’s getting worse, traffic’s a mess. I might be a while, but don’t hang up, okay?” Jamison was anxious, but with the rain pounding down, there was no way to drive faster. All he could do was keep talking, hoping it would help.

Ivy murmured a soft “okay,” set her phone on the pillow beside her, and drifted back into a restless sleep.

Thunder rumbled outside, no longer the sharp cracks of midday, but a deep, mournful rolling, like distant hoofbeats fading away.

She listened quietly to the sounds from Jamison’s end: the turn of the steering wheel, the occasional honk, a muttered curse under his breath. It made her heart ache and flutter all at once, but somehow, it also made her feel safe.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

No matter how long his presence would last, at least at her lowest, when she needed help most, he’d come without hesitation.

That was luck, wasn’t it?

Jamison never hung up. When his car finally pulled into the complex, his voice came through again. “Ivy?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s the code for your door?”

The last time there was a burst pipe, Ivy had given him the code so the super could get in and deal with the flood. She’d changed it since then.

She told him the new numbers. About ten minutes later, she heard the front door downstairs, then the heavy thud of hurried footsteps climbing up. He didn’t bother to hide his urgency.

And then the bedroom door flew open. Jamison’s tall, broad-shouldered frame appeared in a rush.

“Ivy?”

She opened her eyes. “You made it…”

He reached over, brushing her hair back, gazing at her pale, bloodless face. His voice was quiet, grave. “Still hurting?”

“A little… Not as bad as before.” Her tone was soft, so different from her usual fiery self.

His expression darkened, lips pressed in a thin line. Without asking, he slid a hand under the covers, resting his palm gently on her lower abdomen.

He felt the heating pad and pulled it away. “You’ll cook yourself with this thing.”

“My hands and feet are freezing,” she mumbled.

“I know.”

He touched her hands and feet – they were icy cold – and began rubbing them to warm her up. As he’d done before, he started massaging her gently, easing the stiffness from her body.

Ivy lay there docile as a kitten, eyes closed, brow furrowed, letting him fuss over her in silence.

After a while, when her body finally seemed to relax, Jamison turned and pulled a few small boxes from the bottom drawer of the nightstand.

“How about some acupuncture?” he asked, waiting for her nod.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “When did you get those?”

“Last time Katrina brought me over, I ordered a few extra boxes and left them here, just in case.”

She didn’t say anything, but something complicated welled up inside her.

He really had been thinking about her.

Jamison went to wash his hands. When he came back, he moved with practiced ease – lifting her shirt a little, tugging her waistband lower, rolling up her pant legs.

It still felt strange, even though they were together now. It wasn’t anything out of bounds, especially since he was so focused on helping her.

But it still made her uncomfortable.

She couldn’t say anything, so she just lay there stiffly, brow tight, eyes squeezed shut, pretending none of it fazed her.

After he set the needles, Jamison finally relaxed, sitting beside her and speaking gently.

“Were you feeling bad when you called me?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“I was in surgery.”

“I figured.”

When his phone didn’t go through, she understood – it meant he was busy. She wasn’t unreasonable.

“Did you eat lunch?”

“I did.”

“Good.”