Late that night, she lay alone in her bed, sunburnt flesh tight against rainbow sheets, her mind spinning like the tilt-a-whirl: Richard and his father…his broken engagement and his career…their fight on the Ferris wheel and the image of his body clinging for dear life.

Still, one thought kept returning. It circled to the forefront of her consciousness again and again like a carousel horse.

In the heat of argument hundreds of feet in the air, Richard said he loved her.

He also talked about her in the third person and called her impossible so…mixed messages to say the least. She stared at a water stain on the ceiling and downshifted her brain to a slow revolve. Maybe she was impossible, but so was he. He was also stubborn and cocky and more than a wee bit controlling.

And he was a certified, grade A, All-American hero. Put together all those qualities, and she had herself a boyfriend straight out of a rom-com. Their happy ending seemed almost inevitable.

When she next saw him, safe and sound on solid ground, would he say it again? She flipped her pillow, longing for cool cotton to soothe her scorched cheeks. And if he did, what would she say in return?

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Early the following Tuesday morning, Tessa opened the front door to a delivery man.

He thrust a top-heavy, plastic-wrapped pot in her hands.

Orchids—fragrant, milky blossoms unlike any she ever saw. They must have cost a fortune. She tipped the guy, thanked the gods she was actually wearing pajama pants, and plopped at her kitchen table. Breathing in the heady aroma of vanilla and spice, she grabbed her phone. According to the itinerary Richard emailed, before sunrise that morning, he left for the airport. He would be on the west coast for over a week. Until yesterday, she didn’t even know he was going. She scrolled through their awkward text exchange:

—Since when do you have a conference in San Francisco?—

—Since I registered six months ago.—

—I had no idea.—

—I told you about it last week.—

He didn’t. She didn’t correct him. She pushed away her phone.

What a bizarre couple of days. The boy from the Ferris wheel was recovering. She was stiff and achy but otherwise fine. Aside from a few bruises, Richard was miraculously unharmed. Several videos of his heroics surfaced on the Internet. She could tell he was secretly delighted to be a brief viral sensation. Then he flew out this morning without giving her a chance to say, Hey, I might love you, too. Or not to say it.

He was slated to present a paper at some conference on technology in medicine. During their one brief encounter in the hospital hallway, he assured her he wasn’t angry. He hoped she wasn’t either.

She wasn’t remotely angry. Very deep inside welled a hidden pool of relief.