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Holding both vases of flowers tighter, she ignored the throbbing pain of the burn on her arm and shuffled quickly toward his truck. He moved to pull out, but jerked to a stop when he spied her in front of the truck.
“Lady!” he yelled out the window. “Are you trying to get killed?”
“I just need to talk to you.”
He waved his hand, gesturing her to move, but if she did, he would disappear and she would never see him again. This was her only shot at thanking him.
“I would like to pay for the damage to your truck, and also take you to dinner. Somewhere nice.”
“What?” The anger in his one-word question almost made her lose her nerve.
“If you have a wife, she can come too! Or I could get you a gift card to somewhere nice, and you could take her outwithout me. On me?” Dear Lord, why was she talking about his wife? Why was she trying to pay for a date for them? “Okay, on second thought, that is kind of weird. Can I buy you a bottle of nice liquor? Or…” she looked down at her armful of flowers for inspiration. “A Slurpee from 7-Eleven? Any flavor you want.”
The frown on his face broke for just a moment, and she pounced on the microscopic show of emotion. “Two Slurpees,” she negotiated. “And cash for the damage to your truck.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“Yes I do. You got me to the hospital.”
The man sighed. “No I didn’t. I left. Someone else called an ambulance for you.”
“Oh. Well, why did you leave? That’s weird.” Her memories did not support that. “Did I ask you if you were okay? My memory is fuzzy.”
“Lady, I’m not the hero you are imagining me to be. Move.”
Timber narrowed her eyes. Something wasn’t right. She wiggled her hips, because he had instructed her to “move,” but remained planted in front of his truck. He was blocked in the parking space, so it was either stay and talk, or run her over, and the pink roses said he didn’t really want her deceased. She wiggled her hips again.
“What are you doing?” he gritted out through the open window.
“You said to move. I’m moving.” She added a little tap dance, sloshing the water in the flower vases.
The man pursed his lips. The angry frown had disappeared, so she was counting her lame joke as a win.
“I meant move out of my way.”
“I know. One Slurpee, or two?”
He sighed and glared longingly out the window toward the exit. “Do you need a ride home?”
“Yes, actually. I am a damsel in distress. I could use a hero.”
“I already said I’m not a hero.”
“We can get Slurpees on the way to my place.”
“What is it with you and Slurpees?”
“I just woke up from some kind of coma, which means I haven’t eaten anything but whatever that gross white liquid in my IV was, and I have a craving.”
He heaved another sigh. “So really, you need a ride home and you want a Slurpee for yourself?”
“Bingo-bango, I like mangoes,” she said, hauling her flowers to the passenger’s side door just in time for him to swing it open for her from the inside.
“Mangoes are gross, and also, you weren’t really in a coma,” he said as she buckled herself in. “Unconscious yes, but the doctor said it was more like you were just sleeping really hard. If you were in a coma, there is no way they would’ve released you this soon.”
“Well, when I tell people this story, I’m going to say I was in a coma because it sounds way cooler. Why pink roses?”
He shot her a quick glance as he pulled toward the exit. “My mom grows them in all her landscaping. They’re her favorite flowers. She made me pick some up from the store and bring them to you.”
