champagne glass and sloshing champagne everywhere.
She barely made it to the toilet in time. Her poor, unhappy stomach. She shouldn’t have had that shrimp. How long had it been sitting out? Food poisoning. She had food poisoning.
She could hear people talking out in the other room. Were they talking about her? She was going to die of embarrassment.
Or food poisoning.
She leaned her head against the toilet, bracing for round two.
Round two wasn’t any more fun than round one.
She was still recovering from that when she heard a knock on the bathroom door, followed by Trevor’s voice. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t think so,” she whimpered.
“Can I come in? Are you decent?”
“Yes.” She spooled off some toilet paper and wiped her mouth. He was probably grateful he’d kissed her when he did. One disaster narrowly avoided, anyway.
He came in and saw her sitting in front of the toilet. “Uh-oh.”
“I think I’ve got food poisoning,” she told him. “The shrimp.”
“I just ate some. Are you sure it was the shrimp?”
“I’m sure. We should call 911.”
“Never mind that. I can get you to the emergency room faster.” He held out his hand.
“You can’t leave your guests,” she protested.
“Kurt and Misty can keep ’em entertained. Come on.” She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet.
They emerged from the bathroom, Sophie on shaky legs, feeling both miserable and embarrassed.
“Are you okay, Sophie?” asked Char, who was in charge of production at Cupid’s Chocolates.
“I’m taking her to the emergency room,” Trevor said. “Misty, can you grab her coat?”
“Sure,” Misty said, hurrying to fetch it.
“Don’t anybody eat any more of the shrimp,” put in Sophie.
“Oh, my God, I just had six,” said Trevor’s buddy Mike.
“Oh, no,” Sophie fretted as Trevor bundled her into her coat, then hustled her out of the condo.
“Never mind him. Let’s take care of you,” Trevor said, and rushed her out the door.
“Call us,” Kurt called after him.
A moment later they were in his car and speeding down the street like a demon. He took a corner at top speed and Sophie’s stomach did the wave. Noooo. No barfing in Trevor’s car. She swallowed hard, determined not to make things any worse for him than she already had.
Her stomach got the message and behaved, and in another five minutes they were walking through the emergency room doors.
“She needs a doctor,” Trevor said to the woman manning the check-in desk.
So did about half a dozen other people—all in various stages of dress. A woman in her twenties was wearing jeans and a parka and slippers, a foot with a makeshift ice bag propped up on her boyfriend’s leg. A middle-aged couple sat in a corner, both thumbing through magazines and looking cranky. The man let out a phlegmy cough that had probably just sent a million attack germs into the air, and Sophie covered her face with her jacket sleeve.
An older woman and her daughter sat together, and the daughter’s words drifted over to where Sophie and Trevor stood. “There’s nothing wrong with you. We’ve gone through this before. It’s just a panic attack.”
Would that be Trevor talking to Sophie someday?
“That’s easy for you to say,” the mother retorted. “You’re not the one panicking.”
“Insurance?” the woman at reception asked Sophie.
She dug out her insurance card. She didn’t feel all that bad anymore. She should never have made him bring her.
“Maybe we should go,” she said to him. “I think I feel better.” And she sure wouldn’t feel good if she stayed around Mr. Germ much longer.
“We should check you out,” he said. “Better safe than sorry.”
The woman printed out a wristband and put it on Sophie and they found a couple of seats far from Mr. Germ.
“I’m sorry you had to leave your guests,” Sophie said.
He put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her. “Hey, it’s okay.”
She looked to where the woman sat with her daughter and asked in a low voice, “Is that going to be me someday?”
“Nah. You’ll be much better looking.”
Trevor March had the best ever bedside manner.
One by one the other patients disappeared into exam rooms until it was only Sophie and Trevor in the waiting room. “All your friends will have gone home by the time we get back,” she fretted.
“Are you kidding? Not that bunch, not on New Year’s Eve.”
“I really don’t feel so bad now. We should go.”
“We’re here now. Let’s stay and get you checked out. Better safe than sorry.”
A sliding door to an exam room opened and a nurse stepped out, paperwork