Page 96 of Love Expert

He left with her.

Tears burn the backs of my eyes, itching and scraping just enough to make my breath shudder.

I set him up with the very closest person I could find that would tick all the boxes he’s been looking for. I dressed her up in the shortest, classiest leg-exposing dress I could find, encouraged her to leave her hair down—he likes that—and even explained how he prefers his woman with a flair of obedience.

Spine and submission. It’s a tough balance to strike.

And then I stared into his friggin’ eyes and told him to have a good night.

Enjoy yourself.

Ugh!

“Maggie? Can you hear me?”

“Yep.” I tip my head back and, as quietly as I can manage, bang it against the door. “I can hear you, honey. I’ll be there in a second.”

“Your soup is bubbling a bit, Maggie.” The scrape of a chair on my wooden floor penetrates the dull thud in the back of my skull. “Do you want me to check it?”

“No, baby. Don’t check it. It’s hot.”

He opens a drawer, the sound of clattering utensils flittering all the way to the front door.

Exhaling a sigh, I push away from my door and start in his direction. “Jeremy. Don’t touch the soup, it’s?—”

His peeling scream comes first, then the loud racket and splash of my pot colliding with the floor. My stomach heaves, and dread floods my veins as I sprint the rest of the way and burst into my kitchen to discover complete chaos. Jeremy clutches his hand against his belly, his face bright red with tears streaming over his cheeks, while hot soup floods the floor and wafts of steam float into the air.

“Maggie!”

“Jeremy! Oh my gosh!” I skid through the mess and shove the boiling hot pot aside with a brush of my hand. I sweep him off the chair, thrusting him toward the sink and flipping the tap on. “Under the water, sweetheart.”

“It hurts!” He fights my hold, screaming loud enough to make my ears ring. “Maggie! Stop! It hurts.”

“I know it hurts, baby.” Tears flow from my eyes, over my cheeks and onto my lips until the taste of salt penetrates my senses. “Oh gosh, honey. I know it hurts.” My lungs seize and spasm. They hitch and ache. “We have to cool your burn down. Then we’ll go to the hospital.”

“My stomach hurts,” he wails. He scratches my arm, because I hold his burned hand under the water, but then he tugs his shirt up and reveals his belly, marked with red spots. Splashes that got him after the pot fell. “Maggie!”

“Come on.” I whip a towel from the counter and soak it under the tap, then I wrap it around his arm and scoop him up. “We’re going to the hospital right now.”

“It’sliterallymy job to pay attention to him.” I exhale a shuddering breath and squeeze my eyes shut as Ollie applies cream to Jeremy’s hand. If I could, I’d walk my ass out of here and straight onto the nearest freeway. But I can’t, because Jeremy holds on to me fiercely, his eyes pink and puffy from tears.

Because it hurts.

Because he’s in pain.

Because I was more focused on me and my heartache, than him and his safety.

“Literally, Ollie. That’s my actual job, and I completely failed.”

“These things happen sometimes.” He sits on a rolling chair, his hair still fresh and wet, the comb lines still lining his dirty blond locks. His white doctor’s coat stretches across broad shoulders, and when my breath hitches, sympathetic blue eyes come up to mine. “This is a minor burn, Maggie. I’m confident he’ll heal up nice and quick. No scars, no lasting damage.” He looks to Jeremy, who watches him work in a kind of half-daze, through droopy eyes and with his thick bottom lip popped forward. “You’re a frequent flyer around here, aren’t you, buddy? Always getting up to mischief. Always stressing the adults out.”

“Maggie made us soup for dinner.” His chin wobbles. “It was bubbling, and I thought it might burn or something.”

“And now we have a brand-new life lesson, don’t we?” Ollie’s lips curl into a sweet smile. “Nevereverapproach a boiling pot unless you have an adult right there with you. Not even when you want to help.”

Jeremy’s eyes spill over with fresh tears. “I wasted all the soup.” He looks to me. “I wasted your soup, Maggie.”

“It doesn’t matter, baby.” I bring our joined hands up and press a kiss to his knuckles. “It’s just soup.”