Page 25 of Choosing Us

And if it’s not, I’ll find another way for us to make sure we don’t overlook a single option in protecting our sister and nieces.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Dr. Lane?” The voice of the senior doorman in my building wakes me from my cough-syrup-induced haze, and I realize I had answered my vibrating phone.

I don’t remember picking it up and doing so, but my body was probably moving instinctually. I blink my eyes open slowly as the twilight peeks through my half-drawn curtains in my bedroom.

“Yes, sorry, hello, Mr. Stanley. I’m here.” My voice sounds almost as bad as I’ve felt the last few days.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am. I have a food delivery here for you, but the restaurant didn’t know your condo number. Did you order something?”

Food order? I didn’t order anything, but the thought of food—especially some soup—makes my stomach growl for the first time in two days.

“Sorry, Mr. Stanley, I think they have the wrong…” Address? But they don’t have my condo number. “Where is the order from?”

I hear Mr. Stanley say something to someone else before he speaks. “It’s from Spoon and Smash, ma’am.”

My favorite spot? Well, maybe in my haze I did order something, but that is quite alarming if I have no memory of it whatsoever.

I need to drink a large glass of water and eat some solid food.

“Right, sorry, I must be confused from the cough medicine. I’ll accept the delivery. Did they need me to sign anything?” I try to suppress the cough unsuccessfully that breaks through.

“The Spoon and Smash delivery driver said everything was taken care of. I can run this up to your door if you aren’t feeling well, Dr. Lane.”

The fact that this order is coming directly from the restaurant makes me feel a little more comfortable about it, but I’m still completely confused.

Mr. Stanley delivers the soup with a soft knock, and I thank him before sitting at my kitchen island to open the delivery bag.

Inside is a bowl of my favorite chicken and rice soup, one of their famous baguettes, which is somehow still warm from their oven and smelling like heaven, along with one of their homemade dessert bars. On the packaging slip is a note with a phone number below it: “It’s not homemade, but I promise it’s better than anything I could make you. Hope you feel better soon. Ryan”

…Ryan?

The only Ryan I can think of that would do this is Ryan Callahan, but … why would he send me food from one of my favorite restaurants while I was home sick? How did he know I was sick—or where I lived?

What is happening right now?

Forcing myself to not overthink this to death, and grateful I don’t have the energy to dissect all of this, I lean into my instincts and grab my cell, typing out a message quickly.

Me

Hi, Ryan. I just received a very sweet and thoughtful delivery. How did you know I was home sick?

Ryan

Hi, Harlow. Glad it arrived. Walker mentioned it this morning when he had to reschedule our lunch date. I thought it might be helpful for you not to have to cook so you can just focus on healing.

Me

It’s very helpful and kind. Thank you.

Helpful, yes. Foreign concept … also, yes.

No one has ever taken care of me like that when I was home ill, maybe a nanny when I was a young child, but I can’t recall. When I was nine years old, I needed to have my tonsils removed, and my mother was livid that I needed surgery when she had planned to attend fashion week. We lived in New York City, so she didn’t need to travel, but it would have interrupted her plans. I overheard her tell her friends that I had insisted she still go and I would be fine with the nanny to look after me and how proud she was of me for being so mature.

I was nine.

I didn’t want to be mature. I wanted to be taken care of. Thankfully, the nanny at the time was a nicer one compared to some of the others, but she couldn’t hide the disgust on her face at my mother leaving me in the hands of someone else’s care when I required surgery. My father could have stepped up, but his standard excuse was that childcare wasn’t really his thing. No, Ward Lane’s thing was much more aligned with any social event or high-profile activity where he could be seen and adored for all the wonderful things he and my mother do for others.