Tempted By Collection

‘You like to celebrate all the holidays?’

Naomi shrugged as she walked alongside him back to the central desk where a lot of the staff filled in paperwork or checked information on the computer. ‘Well, I like the chocolate aspect. Is that wrong?’

‘Absolutely not. In fact, I think it’s almost law.’ He sat down at the desk, opened his file and started writing his notes.

She noted his hands. He had fine hands, with long fingers, like a pianist’s. So, perhaps he did play that beautiful instrument in his home. He wore a simple band on his middle finger, which might have been tungsten, or platinum. It looked as if it could be a wedding band, but it was on the wrong digit.

It’s none of my business.

Irritated with her own response to that thought, Naomi picked up the next card from triage and glanced at it. It was a child with a head wound. As she went to leave she heard Tom’s voice call her name.

‘Nurse Bloom?’

Turning, she looked at him, admiring the strong line of his jaw, the flicker of muscle as he clenched and unclenched it, as if he were debating with himself. ‘Yes?’

‘When you have a moment...when you have a break, would you come and find me? There’s something I’d like to run past you.’

Run past me?

‘Have I done something wrong?’ She frowned, not knowing what it could be and worried that she might be in trouble again already. Now her heart really was pounding in her chest.

‘No. Just...something personal. That’s all.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

Something personal.

That’s all.

She wondered what it could be. Maybe she’d done something she shouldn’t have done back at his flat. Had she left something out of place? Not put the lid back on the toothpaste, or something? He might be picky about things like that. It had certainly been neat. Everything in its place...

Worried, she headed back to the waiting room and called her next patient.

After she’d seen the child with the head injury, Naomi dealt with an elderly lady with a bad chest infection, then a sprained wrist and after that a young man with a build-up of blood behind his fingernail that needed releasing. Whilst she treated them all, she worried about what it was that Tom was going to ask her.

Something personal.

If it had nothing to do with work, then what could it be? He knew nothing about her, really. She’d made her bed in the flat. She’d cleaned up after herself, and been the perfect guest, hopefully. As her break time arrived she let the sister know she was going and then she began to look for Tom, her stomach in knots, her mouth dry.

She did not need complications. She’d had enough of those to last a lifetime. This was the start of her new life. She’d moved away from her old one and had come here to London, to the city, to prove to herself that she was independent and strong and could live her own life, with her own rules. This was her chance to be free of routine and stress. To only have to worry about herself.

Maybe he was going to ask her to make sure she moved out by the end of the day. She hoped not. After a full day shift until four p.m., she’d be lucky to have time to get back to her flat on St Bartholomew’s Road and then find someone to fix her door, or a locksmith to add locks. She also wondered how much it would all cost. She didn’t have bags of money and the small amount of savings she did have was meant to go towards a deposit on a better place. It wasn’t supposed to pay for repairs to an old flat she didn’t even like!

Tom was at the doctors’ desk when she finally found him.

‘Tom. I’m on my break now.’ She fidgeted with the pens in her top pocket and straightened her fob watch.

‘Let’s grab a coffee and a bite to eat.’

He walked her up to the cafeteria and bought both of them a cappuccino. He ordered a grilled breakfast for himself and when he asked her what she wanted she just shook her head. ‘You’ve got to have something.’ He placed a yoghurt and a banana onto his tray and, once he’d paid for it, they settled down at a table.

‘You’re probably wondering what this is about?’

She smiled and watched him tuck into his food with gusto. It did smell delicious and she tried to ignore the gorgeous scent of bacon and what smelt like pork and leek sausage as she opened her peach yoghurt. ‘You’ve got me curious.’

‘I want to help you.’

She sat in the seat opposite, staring at him, waiting for the axe to fall. ‘Okay.’

‘In the interests of my wanting the department to run smoothly, I’d like you to feel you could stay at my place. For an extra day or two whilst you get your flat sorted.’

‘Stay? I thought—’

‘It’s not ideal, I know, but I’ve been thinking about your situation and I would feel remiss if you felt that you had to leave when your circumstances aren’t exactly sorted.’

She blushed. Wow. She had not been expecting that. ‘That’s very generous of you, Tom. Thank you.’

He sipped his coffee. ‘Not generous. I’m just being practical.’

Practical. Right.

Tom saw her face change. The uncertainty and nervousness that had been there a moment before dissipated and surprise and relief manifested themselves instead.

He’d almost been as surprised about the offer himself. If someone had asked him yesterday whether he’d have taken in a waif or stray, he would have said no. If someone had asked him if he would then have offered that beautiful young woman the chance to stay in his own home for a few more days he would have said they were crazy.

Last night he’d felt uncomfortable with her being there. He’d made as little interaction as he could get away with without being rude. But he’d looked out for her, cooked for her, talked to her a little and had found himself intrigued. He was interested by this woman whom he’d suddenly acquired in his department and in his life.

Not that he was interested in her in that way. There was no point in pursuing that. There was only ever one true love, one true soulmate for a person, and he’d already met his, even if she had been taken from him too soon. Meredith had been killed in a tragic accident that had taken her from him before they’d even had their first full year of marriage. His heart had truly belonged to her and now he kept it locked away, safe and protected from the outside world where cruel things happened and people in love were tormented. No, there were going to be no more women for Tom Williams.

They were off-limits. Even if last night he’d been plagued with thoughts of Naomi in the next room. He’d lied to her about getting that good night’s sleep. He should have had seven hours. But instead, he’d lain in his bed, thinking about her, seeing those long legs that had emerged after her bath, gazing into those eyes of hers that he couldn’t bear to look at for longer than a second in case she saw the interest in his own eyes. Oh, and the way that she laughed. The way her whole face lit up with genuine joy when she did.

So he couldn’t allow himself to think about Naomi. She was everything that went against his self-imposed rules. But he could help her with her living situation.

‘This is so unexpected.’

He nodded. ‘Yes. But expecting you to get your place sorted in one night seems both impossible and impractical. St Bartholomew’s Road? It’s not a nice place. I’m sorry. I’m not normally judgemental, but you seem to deserve...better.’

‘And I can stay at yours for the next few days?’

‘Yes.’

‘I can’t believe it! That’s so sweet of you. Are you sure? Don’t you want to know more about me? I mean, I could be a crazy axe murderer, or something.’

‘I know enough. And if you handled an axe on a regular basis, I’m sure you’d be missing a limb or something by now, from what I’ve seen so far. My place is big enough for us both to be able to do our own thing. We won’t get in each other’s way. And then, with a few days’ grace, you can find a better flat. Something more suitable.’

‘Less rough, you mean?’

‘Less...challenging.’ He smiled at her quickly, then looked away. He’d been thinking hard about this all morning. Did he really want to do this? Could he really open up his home to a stranger? It had already been odd having her there in Meredith’s old room. It had been strange knowing she was there doing whatever it was that women did when they spent ages in the bathroom, but...he could arrange it for them so they had different shift patterns so that they wouldn’t be running into each other all the time.

Naomi sat forward and this time sipped her drink, thinking carefully. ‘Why do you want to help me?’

Because I can’t get you out of my head and the idea of you living in that dump terrifies me.

‘Because I think anyone would deserve better.’ He couldn’t tell her it was because he’d actually quite liked seeing her there this morning. He’d liked having someone to talk to, even if it was only briefly, over breakfast. Normally, once he was dressed, he’d head straight out to work, not talking to another soul until he arrived.

This morning had been different and he’d found he liked it. It had been like it had when Meredith was around.

Meredith.

Was he doing something wrong? No. No, he wasn’t. But why then did he suddenly feel so guilty, when he was only trying to be kind?

The sooner the next few days were over, the better.

Living in Tom’s flat was beyond her wildest dreams. She never would have imagined herself in a place such as this and yet here she was.

Naomi stroked her fingers along the kitchen surfaces, smiling in appreciation at the clean, smooth lines of the beech woodwork and the frosted etched glass in some of the cupboard doors. It was a dream home and she was living in it! If only for a little while.

Her suitcase, which she’d only partially unpacked the night before, was now empty, and all her things were hanging in the wardrobe.

Tom had given her a lift home and he was getting changed, whilst she’d offered to cook for them both. Not that she was a great cook. Or any cook at all, truth be told. Most things she cooked came out of tins or packets. ‘Add an egg’ recipes were the most adventurous she usually got. She looked through his cupboards to see what she could use.

In the fridge there was a large steak. She could cut that into two and maybe make some mashed potatoes and he had fine beans and broccoli. She started peeling and chopping and soon had a couple of pans on the boil, as Tom came out into the living area. ‘You’re cooking?’

‘I am. Steak.’

‘Sounds good.’

He looked good. He’d changed into some black jeans and a soft white fitted T-shirt, which showed off his beautifully toned arms to perfection. Who knew a chiselled god existed under the suit he normally wore at work?

‘How do you like it?’

‘Medium, please.’

She nodded. ‘Good.’ Now she was stuck. ‘Er...how will I know when it’s medium?’

Tom’s face cracked into a near smile. ‘Hold out your hand.’

Her hand? What did he want with her hand? She held it out and then watched as he modelled, using his index finger to touch the fleshy pad beneath his thumb. ‘The way the pad of flesh under your thumb feels? That would be what a raw steak feels like. Put your index and thumb together. Feel it now? That’s well done.’

She watched him and focused, replicating his actions with her own, marvelling at how the different parts felt.

‘Now press your ring finger and thumb together. That pad is now medium.’

Naomi did them all again. ‘That’s brilliant!’

‘I’m glad you like it. Now you’ll know.’

‘Now I’ll know,’ she repeated, picking up the broccoli and rinsing it under the tap. ‘There is something I don’t know.’

‘What’s that?’

‘How well you actually play that piano over there.’ She nodded in the direction of the piano and watched his face.

A strange mix of emotions passed over it and his eyes clouded slightly. If she had blinked, she’d have missed it, but she saw it happen. Something about playing the piano had caused a bad memory.

‘I haven’t played for a long time.’

‘No? Why not?’ She knew she shouldn’t press him, but she was curious. Surely anyone who had such a beautiful instrument would play it as often as they could?

‘Because I only ever played it for my wife.’ Naomi watched as regret and grief filled his face and then he swept away from her and disappeared back to his room.

She stood in the kitchen, her hands pausing in their actions, her mouth slightly open. She hadn’t known he was married.

But then...she remembered the ring on his finger. The wedding band.

I did know. I did! And now I’ve upset him.

She felt so foolish. It was only their second night together and she’d already ruined it. She’d upset her host, reminding him of a past he quite clearly didn’t want to remember. Putting down the knife, she wiped her hands on a cloth and walked to his room, her knuckles raised ready to rap on the wood.

Only she paused.

Did she know him well enough to have an in-depth chat? Was it her place to pry into events he clearly didn’t want to share? If he had wanted to talk to her about it, he wouldn’t have gone to his room.

Clearly she shouldn’t knock. Her hand lowered. Feeling redundant, she went back to the kitchen, her footsteps slow and heavy. Maybe he didn’t want to discuss his wife and whatever might have happened there, but she could cook him an amazing steak and mash.

Well, I’ll have a go anyway. Surely I can’t get this wrong?

She turned on the small kitchen television and dropped the steaks into the sizzling oil.

Tom paced in his room. What the hell was he doing? Why had he reacted like that? What was he, twelve?

And what’s that smell?

Feeling ridiculous, he yanked open the bedroom door, ready to apologise for his behaviour to Naomi, only to notice the kitchen area was filled with smoke and the smell of burning, his fire alarm suddenly squawking into life.

‘What the...?’ He rushed forward to see Naomi, gasping, flicking a towel at a burning pair of steaks, screaming every time she fanned the flames to even greater heights. ‘Stop!’ He pushed past her, turning off the gas, grabbed the tea towel and lowered it slowly over the flames, so that they were dowsed in an instant.

Naomi was coughing and spluttering. ‘I’m so sorry! I don’t know what happened.’

Tom grabbed another towel and began wafting it beneath the fire alarm, until he’d cleared away enough smoke for it to stop. Once silence reigned again and the alarm could only be heard as some sort of ghostly sound in their ears, he turned to her and raised his eyebrows in question.

‘I’m so sorry, Tom. There was a cooking show on and they poured alcohol into the pan and tipped it somehow to...’

‘Flambé?’

‘Yes and it kind of worked.’

‘Too well. How much alcohol did you put in there?’

‘A splash.’

‘Hmm.’

‘I’m so sorry. I’ve never done it before and I so wanted to impress you with a good steak, after I upset you earlier...’

His face clouded over. ‘It’s okay. No one got hurt. Except the steaks.’ He peered at the blackened bits of meat, so totally beyond rescue. To Naomi’s surprise and disbelief pretty soon he was smiling, then laughing. She couldn’t help but laugh, too, thrilled and delighted at how the expression lit up his entire face. It was as if he hadn’t laughed properly in a long time.

When she got her breath back, she slumped onto one of the kitchen stools. ‘You must think I’m a disaster area.’

He slid onto one of the stools beside her. ‘A little. How on earth have you survived all these years?’

Her cheeks flamed. ‘I became best friends with a microwave and meals where you only had to pierce lids before cooking.’

He smiled and shook his head. ‘Has no one ever taught you to cook?’

She shook her head. ‘My mother wasn’t the best at passing on her skills. She didn’t really have any, except for falling in love with the most unsuitable men she could find.’

He stared at her for a moment longer than was comfortable. Despite her hazardous skills in the kitchen and her total inability to not fall off ladders, he liked her. She was innocent and sweet and funny.

Don’t.

Images of Meredith instantly flooded his mind and he felt guilty. Admiring another woman was wrong. He needed to think of something else. He shouldn’t be thinking that it should be Merry standing with him in this kitchen, instead of Naomi. He pushed the guilty thoughts away. ‘I’ll teach you how to cook.’

‘What?’

‘I’ll teach you.’

‘But you’ve already saved me. Rehomed me. You don’t have to turn me into a Michelin-starred chef, too.’

He picked up the pan with the charred remains and tipped it into the bin. ‘Yes. I do. If we’re going to survive this week.’

She sighed and smiled her thanks. ‘Right. So...veg and mash?’

‘There might be some fish fingers in the freezer.’

‘I can manage those.’

He nodded in approval. ‘Excellent. I’ll await your culinary delights, forthwith.’

He laid the table and she brought over their steaming hot plates, laying one down in front of him.

It felt good to be serving someone a meal again. To sit down and just share that moment. They were simple pleasures. Even though she’d been looking forward to being free of all of that, to spending time alone, she suddenly found herself craving the company. ‘I haven’t done this in a long time.’

He looked up. ‘Eaten fish fingers?’

She smiled. ‘Shared a meal. It’s good. You forget what that’s like.’

He looked pensive, then he smiled back. ‘Yeah.’

She pushed her broccoli around her plate, then patted the mash, sculpting it with her fork. She wanted to make him feel better, after she’d annoyed him earlier with that comment about his piano. Perhaps if he knew that she’d been through marriage and a loss, too, it would help. ‘I was married, too, not so long ago.’

Tom took a drink of his water and met her gaze across the table.

‘His name was Vincent and we were married for eight years.’

‘Long time.’

‘It was. Some days it seemed longer than that. Only afterwards, did I realise how short it actually was.’

Tom speared a piece of his broccoli. ‘You don’t have to tell me what happened, if you don’t want to.’

But she did want to share it with him. If they were going to be sharing a flat, she saw no reason not to share with him part of her past. Besides, she thought he might be interested—in a medical sense. ‘Fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva happened.’

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. ‘Stone Man Syndrome? That’s rare. Only about one person in every two million gets it.’

‘Have you ever seen a case?’

‘No.’

‘Vincent had issues from a young age. It was noted when he was a baby that he had these deformed toes, but no one made the connection until later. At first it was bone growths in his neck and shoulders. When I met him, he was already in a wheelchair, confined to a sitting position, and he was in and out of hospital with pneumonia and lung infections.’

‘It must have been difficult for you both.’

‘It’s hard to see someone you love become imprisoned within their own body, their own skeleton turning on them. The slightest injury caused another bone growth.’

Tom put down his knife and fork, totally focused on her story.

‘I left work to become his full-time carer.’

‘I’m sure he was an amazing man.’

She nodded. ‘He was. Upbeat. Positive. As much as he could be until the end. He had his dark days, though.’

‘Don’t we all?’ He looked down at the tablecloth. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

She smiled and pushed away her plate. ‘I managed not to burn the house down anyway. That was a bonus!’ She picked up their plates and took them away into the kitchen, scraping the remains of the meal into the bin. It hadn’t been the best thing she’d ever cooked, but it would do.

Tom came into the room and poured them both a glass of wine. ‘And what did you do to relax? When you weren’t looking after your husband?’

She clinked her glass to his. ‘Reading. Researching his disease. Looking for treatments, looking for medical trials. Anything that could help him.’

‘And what did you do for you?’

‘Me?’ she asked, surprised by the question. ‘I can’t remember.’

He stared at her. Then he sipped his wine, thoughtfully.

CHAPTER FOUR

TOM FOUND THE next week difficult. It was harder than he’d imagined. He’d thought it would be a simple task of scheduling Naomi to work days and putting himself on late shifts or nights, so that he wouldn’t be always in her space, or she in his, but somehow wherever he went, there were reminders—her perfume, her toothbrush in the bathroom, her little make-up bag sitting on the counter. And the times when they did find themselves at home or at work at the same time were even harder.

Once he came back to a darkened flat in the middle of the night, expecting her to be asleep. She had been. Only she’d fallen asleep on the sofa, with the television still playing, and he’d stood over her for a minute, just watching her sleep, her face so relaxed and peaceful. Then he’d felt guilty for watching her, aware she could have woken and found him standing there. So he’d hurried to his room and closed the door, lying on his bed and praying for sleep.

When he’d first met her, he’d been determined not to like her. But then he’d seen at work what a great nurse she was, what fabulous rapport she could achieve with even the most difficult of patients and at home...at home, she would make sandwiches for him and leave him notes pinned to the fridge, so he knew where to find them. She’d even attempted to bake some cookies one night and thankfully hadn’t burned the place down in doing so. They’d been a little tough on the teeth, but he’d eaten them anyway, because she’d tried so hard.

She’d even made progress with getting her flat sorted. A few of their work colleagues knew people who knew other people and the plyboard door had been replaced with an old interior one. Her locks had been changed and she’d even had time to go over there and straighten the place up a bit.

Now, Tom had one more day with her before the ‘few days’ they’d talked about were up and he didn’t know how he felt about that. For some reason he was a bit short-tempered with everyone. Irritable.

Tom and Naomi were both working in Resus, when an ambulance arrived with their first patient of the shift. She was an elderly woman, who was thin and frail with liver-spotted hands and patchy grey hair. Her pale pink nighty, edged with a thin line of lace, looked much too large for her tiny body.

The paramedic wheeled the patient into position. ‘This is Una Barrow, eighty-nine years of age and a resident of Tall Oaks Care Home.’ Tall Oaks was a residential home for patients with Alzheimer’s. ‘The care staff there grew concerned when she stopped eating and drinking yesterday and today she’s got a temperature of thirty-eight point two, sats of ninety-three per cent and a blood pressure of ninety over sixty, which is usual for her. She wouldn’t allow us to do a blood-sugar reading, she became combative and, due to her friable skin and past history of osteopenia, we didn’t think it was worth the risk of injuring her. Hope that’s okay, doc?’