Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 104820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Tessa baked chicken breasts with olives and tomato, and chopped vegetables and fresh herbs for an accompanying salad. By the time she heard the film crew packing up their equipment, she had everything ready for dinner, as well as a batch of healthy overnight oats for breakfast in the morning.
Tessa didn’t return to the living room until she heard the last good-bye and the slam of the front door. Although she wanted to check on Arch immediately, she gave him a few minutes to decompress after what had surely been far too much activity for someone who needed rest—especially considering they’d done some physical therapy before the interview. Plus, she wanted to make sure that everyone had really left.
A little while later, quietly entering the living room, she found Arch staring down at his elevated foot, flexing his toes. Even though he was much fitter than the majority of her clients, there was no way a fractured tibia wouldn’t be causing him pain.
She took in his pain meds and a fresh glass of water and put them on the table beside him. “Did the interview go well?” she asked, as if she hadn’t heard most of it from the kitchen. The crew had replaced the furniture where it had originally been, and apart from a bit of gaffer tape and a few grains of sand, there was no evidence they’d ever been there.
Arch turned to her and smiled. “Part of the job. One of my least-favorite parts, if I’m honest, but they went easy on me.” He didn’t mention that Roxy had wanted to put Tessa on camera, and she didn’t bring it up. All the same, she was grateful he’d spared her that ordeal.
He motioned to the couch across from him. “Sit,” he said. “You’ve been on your feet too long.”
Tessa hid her smile. She was used to working long hours, much of it on her feet. Looking after the self-sufficient Arch was no hardship.
“I’m doing just fine, thank you,” she said, but she did take a seat. “It’s you I’m worried about. You’ve got to be worn out. We had an intense workout this morning, and the interview must have zapped the rest of any energy you might have had. Can I get you anything? Do you need a nap?” Margaret had napped every afternoon, complaining like a cranky toddler each time her body proclaimed her fatigue.
But Arch shook his head, smiling. “I’ve got to get to work learning the new script.”
She had to admit, watching Arch try to mask his pain tugged on her heartstrings. “Take your pain meds, Arch. Maybe those will help get you in a napping mood.”
He grinned and swallowed the pill without protest. “I guess you know what’s best for me,” he said, a cheeky note creeping into his voice.
“I certainly do.” Unable to prevent an answering smile, she added, “I’m glad you’ve finally seen the light. And if you’re ready to be a good patient, then I suggest you take a catnap before you open that script again. Recharge. A lot of healing is done during rest.”
But Arch just scoffed. “I haven’t napped since I was two years old.”
She rolled her eyes. His body would let him know what he needed to do, despite his protests.
“A little reading isn’t going to finish me off,” he insisted. “And I’ll feel much better for getting on top of my work. What I really want is for you to take some time to yourself to unwind before dinner… and pass me that binder you’ll find in the drawer so I don’t have to hobble over there myself.”
Though she still thought a nap was in order before he worked, she understood wanting to stay on top of things. So she fetched the script. “Whatever you do, stay reclining with that foot elevated,” she said, just to remind him who was boss. “I’ll check on you in a bit. And make sure you keep your phone in your pocket in case you need me.”
Earlier, she’d almost felt too intimidated to open the door to his house, but after a few hours in Arch’s home and around his family, she already felt comfortable enough to boss him.
Still, it was a shock all over again to walk into her bedroom. It was so exquisite. On the same side of the house as the living room, a huge window offered a sweeping vista of the ocean and blue sky. Gauzy white curtains floated on either side. The walls were painted a soft cream, the floors and wardrobes of a light wood that seemed to reflect the golden afternoon light. The king-sized bed was made up in oatmeal linens and looked so welcoming she was tempted to nap herself.
But no. She should acclimatize, but she couldn’t forget that she was working.
This wasn’t her home. Or her life.