WHEN LOVE RETURNS

CHAPTER 17

Erica stood at the sink, the water running over her hands as she scrubbed the last of the dishes. She was tired—tired in a way she hadn't experienced before, the kind of exhaustion that comes from learning new things, adapting to a new life, and—surprisingly—finding some comfort in it. The small house was quiet, the evening light casting long shadows through the kitchen window.

As she reached for a knife to scrub off some leftover grease, her fingers grazed the sharp edge, and before she could react, the blade sliced through her skin.

She hissed in pain, her eyes widening as she stared at the cut on her palm, the blood starting to bead at the surface. The sting was sharp, but it was the suddenness of it that took her breath away.

"Ugh... stupid knife," she muttered under her breath, trying to shake off the shock of it. She grabbed a nearby towel to apply pressure, but it didn't seem to help much.

Just as the pain started to intensify, Sam's voice broke through her thoughts.

"What happened?" he asked, his footsteps quick as he appeared in the doorway. His face was etched with concern, his eyes scanning her hand before locking with hers.

"I just... cut myself," Erica replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but her voice betrayed her, a tremor of unease slipping through.

Before she could say anything else, Sam was at her side, gently taking her hand into his, inspecting the wound with the same careful attention he gave to everything he did. His touch was surprisingly gentle, the roughness of his calluses contrasting with the softness of his actions.

"Let me clean it," he said, his voice steady, and without waiting for her response, he went to the cabinet for a first aid kit.

Erica watched him, her heart unexpectedly fluttering in her chest. His movements were calm, practiced, and the warmth of his gaze when he looked up to meet hers made her pulse race. He was being so... tender.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, catching her staring at him with wide eyes.

Startled, Erica snapped out of her thoughts and quickly looked away, feeling her cheeks flush. "Uh, it was—um, nothing. Yeah, just nothing." Her voice faltered, and she inwardly cursed herself. Why am I acting like this?

In her mind, though, she couldn't help but think, This guy pretends to be harsh and cold, but he's actually very caring.

Sam finished cleaning the cut and gently applied a bandage. Then, with a playful smirk, he pressed the bandage down a little too firmly, teasing, "Don't fantasize, princess."

Erica's eyes widened, her face heating up even more. She glared at him, irritation flaring. "I'm not!" she snapped.

Sam's grin only widened as he turned back to the sink to finish the dishes. "Sure you're not," he muttered, clearly enjoying her flustered reaction.

Erica folded her arms, trying to mask the way her heart was racing. What is with him? She watched him work for a moment, the silence between them no longer awkward, but comfortable in its own way.

Sam finished the dishes soon after, glancing over at her. Erica had sat down on the kitchen chair, her eyes already drifting closed. The soft hum of the evening seemed to lull her into a peaceful state, and before long, she had fallen asleep right where she sat.

Sam watched her for a moment, his gaze softening. He noticed the way her shoulders rose and fell with each slow, deep breath, the light from the nearby lamp casting a soft glow on her face. She looked so peaceful, so unguarded.

She really is beautiful, he thought, a sudden, unexpected ache blooming in his chest.

Without another word, Sam grabbed a blanket from the couch and quietly draped it over her, making sure she was warm enough. He lingered for a moment, standing over her and watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. The sight of her vulnerability made something in his chest tighten, a feeling he couldn't quite name but that he didn't want to leave.

As he turned to head back to the living room, he cast one last glance at Erica, taking in her serene face. I can't let her get hurt. Not again.

*****

The next morning, Sam woke to find Erica burning with a high fever. The sunlight filtered through the cracks in the curtains, and the warmth of the day seemed to make everything feel more intense. When Sam touched her forehead, the heat radiating from her skin made his stomach flip.

"Erica!" he called out, his voice sharp with panic. "Wake up!"

Erica stirred slightly, but her eyes remained closed. She mumbled incoherently, her breath coming out in shallow, feverish gasps. Sam's heart raced, a deep, overwhelming fear gripping him.

This can't be happening. Not now.

His mind raced as he thought of what to do. He moved quickly, grabbing a damp cloth and gently pressing it to her forehead. "Come on, you need to wake up," he urged softly, brushing her hair from her face. "You're burning up."

Her eyelids fluttered open, though her gaze was unfocused and glazed. "Sam?" she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, it's me. You're really hot. I think you have a fever," he said, his tone full of worry and barely contained panic.

Erica blinked, trying to make sense of her surroundings. "I feel... so tired."

Sam's expression softened as he brushed a few strands of hair from her face. "I know," he said gently. "Just rest for now. I'll take care of everything."

Erica gave him a weak smile, her eyes fluttering closed again. "You don't have to..."

"I want to," Sam replied firmly, his voice steady. "Just relax, okay?"

He moved quickly to prepare her some light food, knowing it would be best to keep things simple for her while she recovered. But the worry gnawing at him wouldn't let go. I can't let her stay sick like this.

When he returned with the medicine and a bowl of soup, he gently helped her sit up enough to take the medicine.

"Here, take this. It'll help," he said, offering her the glass with a soft smile.

With a grateful smile, Erica accepted it. "Thank you, Sam. I really appreciate it."

Sam nodded, his relief evident. He watched her carefully as she took the medicine, his mind unable to shake the tightness in his chest. I just want her to get better.

After she finished, he stayed by her side, watching over her as she fell back into a fevered sleep. He didn't leave her once, making sure she was comfortable, keeping a damp cloth on her forehead.

As the quiet of the morning settled in, Sam couldn't help but think, I can't let her get hurt. Not again. But this time, it wasn't just about protecting her from physical harm—it was about something deeper. Something that had begun to settle in his heart, whether he liked it or not.

And for the first time, he wasn't sure if he even wanted to fight it.