From Hate Flourishes Love (Editing)

Don't Know How, but Somehow, I Fell for My Husband

🅚🅐🅘

I feel a rush of cold air clip my neck as the hospital's automatic door opens. I pause my steps to watch the reflection of my small, tired, hesitant self in the large panes of glass. "W–h–o  a–r–e  y–o–u?" I mouth to the image of myself.

I have lost a year of my life. A year usually seemed so short to me. But, in retrospect, a single year feels like an eternity. In just a year ... everything about me had changed — and now my own reflection is a stranger.

"Kai?" Zander calls me. "What's wrong? Are you feeling okay?"

The temperature of my cheeks raise to the degree of a fever at his hand squeezing mine in panic.

"I'm okay ..." I tell him.

I can't say if this is nostalgia, but at every word ... every touch of his, my chests gets all giggly and warm.

"Are your legs tired?" Zander asks me. "I'll carry you if you want."

"No," I shake my head. "I'm not tired. I can walk."

Zander dips his head, bringing his lips aching close to mine. "Are you saying 'no' because you don't want to — or because you're too shy?"

"I love walking," I blurt, blushing as his breath fans my cheek. "I walk just fine ..." I show off my stride. "See?" I take two steps back and forth to make my case.

Gosh ... I'm embarrassing myself in front of this man.

"Alright," Zander chuckles. "But you're really putting these to waste." He rolls up his sleeves, flexing as his arms, muscles tightening and rippling under his skin.

My blush climbs all the way up my ears, but I fight to hide the thrill his playfulness awakens in me.

"I've seen better," I tease him.

I stop blocking everyone's exit out of the hospital, and step outside.

"Where?" Zander trails me outside.

"Around..." I mumble.

Zander closes in on me. "Around where?" He catches my waist, pulling me against him.

I tense, my back knocking against the rise of his hard chest. He must've felt my reaction. "I got excited. I'm sorry..." He lets go of me.

"It's okay," I tell him.

"I wasn't thinking," Zander whispers. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I smile weakly.

I feel incredibly guilty. I feel ... guilty because I feel I'm punishing him.

"Mr. Summers-Storm ..." a buff man in his late forties, double-barrels my name with Zander's.

I stifle a laugh, thinking maybe hyphenating those two names wasn't the best idea. Summers-Storm? Sounds I like come with heavy rain and thunder.

"Hi," I greet the driver, climbing into the back seat.

Zander climbs in beside me.