by Mingua, Wren
“That's good to know.” David flashed his disarming smile yet again, and she swore she could feel her body melting a bit. “I should leave you to enjoy your dinner with your friend. I'll be in touch.”
“Good,” Miranda said. “It was nice seeing you again.”
“Likewise.” As he left, David gave a polite nod to Algar, who looked like he was seconds away from ripping off the other man's head.
“Who was the bilge rat?” Algar grumbled.
“Dr. Mooney... David. He took care of me while I was in the hospital.”
Algar's hostility was momentarily replaced by concern. “Hospital? Are you alright?”
“I'm alright now, but I—”
The waitress returned, which saved Miranda from having to explain things further. She delivered their spaghetti plates and, casting a sidelong glance at Algar, hurried away from the table as quickly as she could.
“Well, I think you need a real man!” Algar declared.
If by real man he meant someone who attempted to eat spaghetti with his bare hands, then he might have been referring to himself.
They were going to need a lot of napkins.
Chapter Eleven
It was two o'clock in the morning, but Lily was still out with Cody. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were up to. For the last few days, Miranda hadn't been getting much sleep. It turned out the couch wasn't as comfortable as she would have liked. And now that she was alone in the house with Algar—who she was no longer trapping in her bedroom at nights—she was more apprehensive than ever.
She wandered around the kitchen barefoot, in search of the perfect midnight snack. The first thing she found was Algar's Keebler cookies; she hoped he wouldn't mind if she treated herself to a few of them. Miranda poured herself a glass of milk and sat on the counter, where she nibbled on a chocolate and peanut butter cookie.
“Sorry, chocolate,” she whispered to her cookie, “but you'll never be peanut butter's perfect mate. Everyone knows peanut butter and jelly belong together.”
Shaking her head at her nonsense, Miranda leaned back and sipped her milk. It was going to be another long night. If Algar was going to stay with them much longer, she would have to invest in some sleeping pills.
Miranda's purse was sitting next to her on the kitchen counter, so she reached inside and extracted her phone. To her surprise, she had a text from Dr. Mooney:
It was great seeing you today. What are you doing tomorrow? I'm free this weekend, so maybe we can get together for some lunch? Write back or give me a call whenever you have a chance. I'm really looking forward to spending time with you.
“He's so polite...” Miranda said aloud. “And he types with perfect capitalization and punctuation. He must be the man of my dreams!”
When Miranda started texting a reply, she was halted by a strange noise. It sounded like breaking glass.
“Algar?!” Miranda shouted. “Algar, is that you?” If it was Algar, she could only imagine what sort of mischief he might be getting up to. Breaking vases? Shattering bottles?
But then a man rounded the corner, and it wasn't Algar.
He was over six feet tall, bald, and had a ratty goatee. Miranda's heart started pounding beneath her chest, hard and rapid. She slid off the counter and started looking for a weapon.
“Don't move, bitch!” the man ordered in a gruff voice.
Not one to be ordered around, Miranda slid open a drawer and searched for a kitchen knife. But she made the mistake of opening the wrong drawer—all she saw was a pizza cutter and an oven mitt.
“I said DON'T MOVE!” The intruder ran forward and tried to grab her arm, but Miranda moved quick. She dashed away and made a run for the door.
“Algar!!” Miranda screamed. She wasn't too crazy about playing the role of the damsel in distress, but what other choice did she have? The man was chasing her, grabbing at her waist. “ALGAR!”
The intruder tackled her to the ground. Miranda's head hit the linoleum floor, which was sure to leave a bruise or concussion, maybe both. Her wig, Miranda's deepest secret, bounced off her head and landed near the dishwasher. Miranda's knees squeaked against the tiles as she tried to crawl away. Her assailant seized her ankle and tried to pull her toward him, so she tried to kick him with her other foot. Her ankle connected with his chin, which made him roar with pain.
The attacker grabbed both of Miranda's feet and pinned them to the kitchen floor. She kept trying to scoot away, but he was way too strong.
But he wasn't too strong for Algar. When she saw her rescuer rush into the kitchen, she breathed a sigh of relief. Algar grabbed the other man's shoulders and lifted him off of Miranda. He grabbed the attacker's head and slammed it against the kitchen counter: not once, but three times. Blood smeared across the counter as Algar tossed the unconscious man aside.
Algar found his hook hand and shoved it onto his stump. He crouched over the fallen attacker and raked the hook's point across the man's forehead, leaving a trail of blood. “I should gouge his eyes!” Algar hissed.
Miranda sat up and ran over to Algar, grabbing his shoulder. “Wait! Don't! We have to call the police!”
“I should kill him!”
“No, Algar! Wait! Don't!” Miranda ran to her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. “He's unconscious... let's just have the police deal with him!”
“I should turn him inside out!” Algar growled. “I should take out his entrails and wrap 'em around his body like a noose!”
“Algar... please.” As she talked to the emergency operator, Miranda touched her hair, her real hair. She had two inches of light brown hair growing out of her scalp. She spotted her wig on the floor and frowned. Now Algar would know her secret.
Miranda kept an eye on Algar, making sure he didn't gut the intruder. Her hands were still trembling, and her heart was still trying to beat its way out of her chest. She was so shaken, she had forgotten to say--
“Thanks.” Her voice was weak.
“Not a problem, Angel,” Algar said. “I only wish I'd of come sooner.”
When the phone call ended, Miranda tiptoed across the floor and retrieved her wig. She could feel Algar's eyes on her as she slammed it onto her head. She tried to adjust the wig to her liking, but it was crooked. She half-expected Algar to ask questions, but he didn't. She was glad he kept his silence, as she had already been through enough for one night.
“I'm glad Lily wasn't here,” Miranda said with a sigh. “I wouldn't have wanted her to go through this.”
“I wish you didn't have to go through it.”
At Miranda's request, Algar dragged the assailant's unconscious body into the living room, where the police could easily retrieve him. Miranda collapsed on the couch and laid a hand against her chest, hoping it would slow her racing heart. She spotted the broken window, where the invader had entered the house. Shards of broken glass sparkled all over the carpet, like hundreds of ominous reminders of the night's ordeal.
The police arrived about ten minutes later. They hauled the intruder into the back of the cop car, then got statements from Algar and Miranda. She expected Algar to say something ridiculous; something to make the police raise their eyebrows. But he was quiet and poised throughout the night, which had Miranda quite impressed.
When the police were gone, Miranda laid on the couch and bellowed her misery to the ceiling. What if Algar hadn't been there? What would have happened to her if she had been all alone in the house? Would she have been robbed? Raped? Killed?! She didn't even want to consider the possibilities, because each one made her skin prickle with disgust.
Algar knelt beside her and laid a hand against her forehead. “Are you alright, Angel?”
“I'm alright.”
“Are you hurt?” He gently brushed his thumb across her temple, where she had a knot and a bruise.
“I don't think so.” Miranda wiggled her feet, which made her wince. “Actually... I think I might have hurt my ankle.”
Without warning, Algar scoo
ped her into his arms and started carrying her away. Miranda nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder, as if to somehow absorb his strength. Algar carried her into the bedroom and laid her on the bed. He even pulled the blankets over her body and tucked her in.
“But this is your bed...” Miranda whispered.
“Nonsense,” Algar chuckled. “We both know it's your bed, Love. You need to get some rest.”
“I don't know if I'll be able to settle my mind enough to actually get some rest. That was... traumatic,” she said. “Anyway... where are you going to sleep?”
“In there.” He pointed toward the living room.
“But--!”
Algar laid a silencing finger over her lips. “No protests. I won't hear it.”
Miranda removed his hand from her mouth and said, “But you're my guest! I can't let you sleep on the couch!”
“And neither should you, after what you've been through, Love.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything to ease yer mind?”
“Nothing that I can think of.” Miranda pulled off her wig and tossed it across the bed. “There's no use hiding this anymore, huh? I bet you have a million questions...”
“It can wait.” Algar ran a hand over her hair, running his fingers through her short, dark tresses. “But I will say... I think it's quite sexy. More women should have short hair.”
“Please.” Miranda rolled her eyes. “I had cancer... leukemia. That's why I have short hair. I lost it all during the chemo. But I'm in remission now... Lily was my bone marrow match, so...” When she saw the puzzled look on Algar's face, her voice trailed off. “You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?”
Algar shook his head. “Nay. But you've been through a lot... tonight, and your entire life. I've gathered that much.”
“Algar?”
“Yes, Angel?”
Miranda sat up and held out her arms, inviting him to embrace her. When he didn't, she insisted, “Hug me. Please? I want to be held.”
Algar scooped her into his arms and pulled her against his chest. He cradled her head in the palm of his hand, and she nuzzled her face against the curve of his shoulder.
“Algar,” she started, “I'm really glad you were here tonight.”
“And I'm really glad I was here tonight.” Algar laid her back on the bed and tucked her in again. “Ever since I've been here, I've just wanted to go home, back to me ship, back to my crew. But tonight? I'm glad I was here.” He reached down and held her hand for a few seconds. “I think I was supposed to be here. To protect you.”
“That's sweet.” A sweet pirate?! It sounded like an oxymoron.
“And I want you to get some rest tonight, Angel.” He started drifting toward the door as he spoke. “Don't worry your little head about anything, Love. I won't let anyone hurt you.” For a few seconds, his gaze lingered on her bruised forehead. “Never again. Not as long as I'm here.”
Chapter Twelve
The next day, Miranda spent the better part of the afternoon sending texts to Dr. David Mooney. She should have been working on her novel, since she was only four chapters away from finishing it, but the allure of the handsome doctor was too much to resist.
She wrote to him:
Maybe you could come over for dinner? I could cook for you. Do you like chicken parmesan?
Miranda had butterflies in her stomach as she waited for his reply.
That sounds great, Miranda, I'd love to come. I like anything and everything Italian, so chicken parmesan sounds wonderful. What time should I be there?
Miranda stared at Algar in the corner of her eye. At the moment, he was transfixed by the television. If she had any hope of pulling off a romantic date, she needed to get him out of the house.
“Lily!” Miranda called out to her sister, who was in the kitchen washing the dishes. The fact that she had volunteered to wash them was a small miracle. Lily must have been feeling sorry for her after the previous night's attack.
Lily popped her head in the living room. “Yeah?”
“Would you mind taking Algar out for dinner tonight? I can pay for you guys to eat out,” Miranda said.
“Why are you trying to get rid of us? Do you have a date or something?” Lily followed up her question with a sarcastic snort.
“I might.”
“You might?!” Lily's jaw swung open. Miranda hadn't had the merest wisp of a love life in the last four years, so it was shocking news, to say the least.. “With who?!”
“David.”
“David? Who's that?”
“Dr. Mooney.”
Lily's jaw was open yet again. “Oh my god, seriously?! He's hot!” When she noticed Algar's pitiful face, she cleared her throat and added, “But Algar's hot too. I'll be the lucky one... getting to go out with him!”
“Whatever you do, just don't order spaghetti,” Miranda said with a chuckle, then turned her attention back to her cell phone.
Why don't you come over around seven o'clock? I'm looking forward to seeing you.
* * *
When Miranda opened the door, David greeted her with a smile and a bouquet of flowers.
“Oh wow. Thanks for the flowers,” Miranda said, taking the roses from his proffered hand. “Well... I'm assuming they're for me.”
“Of course they're for you, silly.” David stepped into the house, raised his head, and breathed deeply. “Wow, something smells delicious.”
“That would be my Chicken Parmesan.” Miranda flopped down on the sofa and cradled the doctor's flowers to her chest. She watched him shrug off his coat and toss it over a chair. Every time he moved, even if he was just taking off his coat, he made it look sexy. “I made my mom's special marinara. You're in for a treat.”
“Sounds good.”
Miranda couldn't tear her eyes away from him. David was as perfect as a man could get. He was six feet tall, broad shouldered, and had the most prominently chiseled cheekbones she had ever laid eyes on. His warm brown hair was just begging to have her hands all over it.
He sat beside her on the sofa, so close that she could smell his cologne, which was musky and spicy and subtle. When he smiled at her again, she swore she could feel her heart tingling.
“So...” David spoke again, rattling her from her lustful thoughts. “What was this ordeal you mentioned in your last text?”
“Oh... yeah. Well, it was pretty traumatic. Last night, some man broke into our house!”
“Are you serious?!”
“Yeah.” Miranda pointed at the window. “He got in over there.... that's why the window's boarded up. But you might not be able to see it because Lily put a curtain over it.”
David's hand almost went to her knee, but he retracted it at the last moment. He didn't want to get too cozy too soon. “So what happened? Did you get hurt? Are you okay?”
“I did get hurt, actually. A little bit.” Miranda pointed at her forehead. He leaned in to get a better look, but he couldn't see anything. “I tried to cover it up with makeup before you got here. Well... I don't really wear makeup, but I borrowed Lily's concealer. I think I twisted my ankle too, but--”
“Your ankle?” David interrupted. “Let me see it. Here, put it on my lap.”
“But--”
“Come on. I'm a doctor. I insist.” David patted his lap a few times, so Miranda slipped her foot out of her shoe and placed it on his knee. His hands immediately started circling her ankle, which tickled a bit. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “I think it might be a little bit swollen. Did you put any ice on it?”
“No.”
“A cold compress isn't a bad idea. Try to keep it elevated, and stay off of it as much as you can.”
“It's not that big of a deal.” Miranda waved off his worries with a flick of her hand. “It doesn't even hurt that much.”
“You should really follow the doctor's advice,” he said with a grin.
“And you should stop trying to be my doctor.” Miranda wag
ged her finger at him and slipped her foot off of his lap. “This isn't going to feel like a date if you're trying to diagnose me all night!”
“I can't help it. Old habits.”
“Anyway, I think the chicken is done.” She rose from the couch and laid his flowers on a coffee table. “What do you want to drink? Some wine? Pepsi?”
“A glass of wine would be nice.” Before Miranda could head into the kitchen, David reached out and grabbed her arm. “By the way... you look great.”
“So do you. You're tall, handsome, charming... and you've got a great butt,” Miranda said with a giggle. “On top of it all, you're a doctor. If you have a flaw, I'm still trying to figure out what it could be.”
David released her arm and shook his head. “I have plenty of flaws.”
“Yeah? Name one.”
“Well...”
When her question was met with a prolonged pause, Miranda had to laugh. “See? You have zero flaws. You're flawless.”
Before he could protest again, Miranda headed into the kitchen to finish preparing the food. She piled generous portions of Chicken Parmesan and Fettuccine Alfredo onto their plates, then she went to set the table. She started to light a candle, but she thought it might look cheesy. It was, after all, their first date—maybe it was too soon to worry about a romantic ambiance? When everything was prepped and ready, she stuck her head into the living room and announced, “It's done!”
“Great!” He rose from the couch and swaggered into the kitchen. “I can't wait to try it. It does smell really, really good.” David walked right over to her and sniffed her neck. “And you smell good, if you don't mind me saying so.”
“Oh, really? Thanks. It's this new perfume I got... it kinda smells like apples.” Miranda and David sat across from each other at the table. She almost told him he smelled good, but she decided against it. Unlike Lily, Miranda wasn't too proficient in the art of flirtation. Telling him he had a nice butt would probably be her big one for the night.