Derek lay in bed, his thoughts drifting back to the past—their hands would often interlock when passion arose.
Now, though the woman before him was a stranger in appearance, demeanor, and even gaze, the feel of her palm was achingly familiar.
Gently, he held her hand, tracing the lines of her palm and the warmth of her fingertips. He was certain—the size and bone structure of a hand were unchangeable.
These hands, held countless times before, were undeniably real against his touch.
Tabitha abruptly pulled her hand away. Derek realized his mistake and a flash of guilt crossed his face. "Sorry, I just thought of my ex-wife for a moment…"
He trailed off, lowering his eyelids to mask the turbulent emotions in his eyes.
Tabitha studied his face, searching for any sign of deceit in his blank expression and pale complexion but found none.
"I must be overthinking," she reassured herself inwardly.
"What's troubling you?" Derek's voice broke her reverie.
Tabitha collected her thoughts. "It might be a side effect from the strong medication. Starting today, I'll reduce the dosage and blend some milder herbs. You should also soak in the back mountain spring—it's good for you. I'll prepare a medicinal meal and check on you later."
Derek nodded, watching her leave with a heavy heart. His gaze lingered on her weary back—a back lined with calluses and etched with the passage of time.
Tabitha hurried to the kitchen, her heart still racing.
She selected a free-range chicken, gathered fresh mushrooms and herbs, and skillfully prepared a nourishing broth in a purple clay pot.
"He needs gentle nourishment, not quick fixes," she murmured, stirring the pot as if to steady her own nerves.
Once Derek was alone, he summoned Alvin.
"I need you to find out Hedwig's exact age. Be discreet," he instructed, closing the door behind Alvin.
Alvin raised an eyebrow. "Why the sudden interest?"
"Just do it. No slip-ups," Derek said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Derek knew Tabitha's vigilance well—even Alvin, his trusted subordinate, wouldn't get the full story.
As he lay back, his thoughts spiraled.
If this woman was Tabitha, what did it mean?
She'd never truly left him, even bearing his child.
Hedwig's familiar glances and selfless blood donation now made grim sense.
"Foolish girl, why didn't you tell me?" he whispered, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.
In that moment, his physical pain eased, and even the bitter medicine seemed more palatable.
When Tabitha returned with the medicinal broth, Derek feigned rest.
"Eat this, even if it makes you nauseous. You can only have liquids now," she said, handing him the bowl.
Derek nodded and reached for it, but deliberately let the rim graze his fingers. With a clatter, the bowl hit the floor and shattered.
Tabitha looked up, meeting his innocent gaze. "My fault," she said, moving to clean up.
"No, stay," Derek said, pressing her hand to keep her seated.
He knelt, noticing the blood seeping from a cut on his finger—a wound from the shattered porcelain.
Instinctively, Tabitha took his hand and gently blew on the wound, her action so familiar it felt like a memory. Realizing her slip, she quickly turned to fetch the medical kit.
Derek watched her flustered back and felt a warmth spread in his chest.
That fleeting moment of instinct—did it betray the feelings she tried so hard to hide?
He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. This time, he vowed, he wouldn't let her slip away.
Tabitha tightly gripped Derek's finger, her thumb absentmindedly pressing into the callus on his palm—a callus from years of holding a gun, unchanged from his memory.
Derek felt her hand tremble and swallowed the urge to say, "It's just a scratch." Instead, he met her furrowed brow with a silent plea.
"Wait here," Tabitha said, her voice strained, her skirt brushing the bed as she turned.
She hurried to fetch the medical kit, the metal clasp digging painfully into her palm.
The smell of alcohol cotton balls flooded her senses as she opened the kit, reminding her of that rainy night four years ago—the same antiseptic and blood mingling in the clinic outside Seattle.
When the disinfectant touched his wound, Derek instinctively flinched.
"Does it hurt?" Tabitha asked, her gaze locking onto his evasive eyes.
"No, it's just..." Derek studied her focused profile, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Your touch is very gentle."