Chapter 4: Feet

The suite was on the top floor, and it was bigger than my whole condo.

Adam set my bag by the sofa and picked up the phone on the wall.

"Anything you want," he said. "Don't look at the menu. Just tell me."

"Eggs," I said. "And toast. And something with a lot of cheese."

He ordered it in four words and hung up.

"Sit," he said.

I sat on the edge of the cream sofa and my whole body let go.

My heels burned.

I tried to hide the wince, but he saw it.

He crossed the room and knelt on the carpet in front of me.

It happened so fast I forgot to say anything.

"Let me see your feet," he said.

"They're fine."

"They're bleeding through your socks, Wendy."

I looked down.

There was a dark spot on each heel where my sneakers had rubbed through.

I hadn't noticed it all day.

I had been busy holding four phones.

"It's just blisters," I said.

"Then it won't take long."

He worked the laces loose and slid the first sneaker off with both hands.

His fingers were warm against my ankle.

My breath stuck in my throat.

Nobody had touched me kindly in so long that I'd forgotten what it felt like.

He peeled off the sock, and the skin under it was raw.

His jaw tightened.

"Eleven hours," he said quietly.

"It was only standing."

"On these?"

He opened a first-aid kit from the bathroom cabinet and cleaned the blister with a cold cloth.

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