One Life-Changing Night. Louisa Heaton
didn’t expect she would. It had been one heck of a day! And now she was suddenly living in her boss’s home. That felt … odd. She didn’t know him and the understanding he must have of her at this point was tenuous. He obviously didn’t let people get too close. Everything about the man screamed ‘keep away!’ but he’d been generous and offered her a bed for the night when she’d had no other choice. That was good of him, right?
She was going to have to think of a way to thank him for this.
A huge thank you indeed.
Tom stood in his kitchen furiously whisking eggs for some omelettes. It felt strange knowing that he wasn’t alone. That there was someone else in his home. A woman. A beautiful woman. And a work colleague, no less.
That would get the hospital grapevine going, no doubt. Especially if they arrived for work tomorrow together in his car. Perhaps he could let her get out at an earlier point?
He shook his head. Was he really that rude? Or worried about his reputation? Of course not. Everyone knew him at work. He was dedicated, honest, hard-working. No lad-about-town, causing outrageous rumours.
Besides, they might be lucky. No one might notice.
Naomi was in Merry’s room. The room she had used as a craft room, making cards, decoupage and that other thing she’d done … quilling? Or something like that. She’d been so talented at it. Sometimes he’d gone into that room to see what she was working on and had been amazed at this beautifully constructed hummingbird or peacock or mythical creature, all made out of coloured curls of paper. He remembered her smiling face looking up at him and saying, ‘What do you think?’
And now Naomi was in there. Did she know? Could she sense it? He’d barely been able to stay in there and it had taken all his strength to redecorate it. To change it from what it had been. To take away the pain of the once pale blue walls.
They were a peach colour now. He’d not been in there since he’d painted it, except to change the bedding.
All the crafting stuff was gone, packed away. Some of it he’d given away. Instead, he’d installed a big wrought-iron bed in there along with bespoke beech furniture. It was all very plain. Simple. For guests. Not that he’d been expecting any guests. But if he gave the room a purpose, rather than it just lying empty, he could forget about his dreams for that room and what he’d once hoped it would turn out to be.
A nursery. Because one day, he and Merry would have tried to start a family. They’d talked about it anyway …
It would never be that now. And now it was Naomi’s room. For one night anyway.
He tried to focus on the eggs, on grating cheese, on slicing courgettes and mushrooms, but his brain kept on torturing him with the image of her eyes, the way she’d looked up at him when he’d caught her falling from that ladder.
This was crazy! Why should it bother him what her eyes had looked like? Or that her skin had been smooth like porcelain, that her lips had looked full and soft? They were just work colleagues. Just associates. He was helping her out.
He whisked the eggs harder, trying not to think about her. He tried to focus on all the work he needed to get through tomorrow, but he could only envision her face and the way she’d felt in his arms …
Cursing, he put down the bowl of eggs and just stood still for a moment. Perhaps what he needed was a breather. A moment of mindfulness, to get himself back on track. He thought of the patients he’d seen that day. Their cases. The injuries. The treatments. The protocols.
Yes. That was working.
The door to the guest room opened and out walked Naomi in a thigh-length robe, with her hair all scooped up in a towel.
He quickly picked up the eggs and whisked them some more. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘I’m starving.’
‘Good.’ He tried not to breathe in all the aromas that she’d somehow brought out with her. There was a hint of lavender and something else sweet, warm and clean. She perched herself on a stool at his breakfast bar and he saw long, toned legs and dainty feet with pink-painted toenails. ‘I’ll make a start, then.’
‘Can’t wait.’
He swallowed hard and turned his back.
SHE WOKE WITH a start, a bad dream about smelly men in balaclavas still in her consciousness as she blinked quickly and looked about the strange room. Then she remembered.
Tom’s.
She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Five-forty-two a.m. It was early. But she had to be at work at seven, ready for the shift handover at seven-fifteen, so there didn’t seem much point in trying to go back to sleep. She’d be getting up in twenty minutes anyway. Throwing off the covers, she got up and quickly made her bed, before getting dressed.
She moved quietly, hoping not to disturb Tom. She’d already put him out enough yesterday, especially last night when her presence had meant he couldn’t even relax in his own home. The last thing she wanted was to wake him early and disturb his sleep pattern.
He was a good man, she thought. Despite the prickly exterior. He’d opened his home to a complete stranger, giving her the space she’d needed to just settle and breathe and get over her stressful day.
After their omelettes last night—which, due to something magical he’d done with Tabasco sauce and tomatoes, had been the most incredible she had ever tasted—he had wished her goodnight and disappeared to his room. She had watched him go, silent and strong, his long, lean figure moving gracefully like a cat into the shadows.
She’d taken the opportunity to look around his living space and discovered that Dr Tom Williams seemed very much a solitary man. There was no room for sentiment here. Each piece of furniture or decor had been chosen for its aesthetic appeal, rather than being some old family heirloom. There were no pictures on the walls of family or loved ones, no photo albums. Every surface was clean and uncluttered and only his bookshelves showed some hint to his character—clearly work focused, as all his books had been medical texts.
Was work all he thought about? She saw no sign of any other interest. There were no knick-knacks lying around like those she’d had all over the place. No personal touches. There was just the piano and, even then, she wondered if that was for him to play, or just another element of style. The only homely touch—the flowers—had been brought in by his cleaner.
But Naomi was thankful that he was focused on his work. Because apart from that small chat they’d had whilst he’d been preparing food in the kitchen, he had left her alone. He’d given her space, stayed out of her way.
It was his home and he was hiding in it. Perhaps he wasn’t that thrilled to have her here after all? Perhaps he had felt compelled to suggest that she stay with him because he thought it was the gentlemanly thing to do. Tom certainly seemed like a gentleman, from the little she knew of him.
Still, she felt safe getting up this early and having a few minutes to herself before he surfaced. Perhaps she could make him a coffee and some toast, or cereal. She had no idea if he would be a cereal type of man. A quick look in his kitchen would tell her what she wanted to know. But it would be good to do something nice for him to show her appreciation. After all, later today she would be out of his hair.
She opened her bedroom door and was surprised to find all the lights on and Tom already up and about in his kitchen. He looked over at her. ‘Good morning. Sleep well?’
She wasn’t used to being greeted like that in the mornings, even when she’d been married. Back then, she’d fall sleep, exhausted, after a long, physical day and when she woke and went into her husband’s room, the first words out of his mouth would usually be to tell her what sort of a night he’d had. Whether he’d got any