Picture Perfect by Deena Remiel Page B

but not a soul joined her. Great. Now what? Her foot throbbed in rhythm with her heart. She needed to get her foot washed, bandaged, and up in the air quick. She looked around again, this time to see how close any of the beach houses were that dotted past the dunes. The one nearest had sea green shingles and a white wrap around porch. It had a very non-assuming and friendly look. She’d been judged by the book covers she created, so she figured the house may very well be a good reflection of its owner.
    Hobbling through the sand and up the dunes gave her quite a workout. Every step she took made her wince and left a little token of her affection for the sea, a bloody footprint. Her once white tank top now boasted a horrid shade of deep red. She reached the apex of the sand hill and saw the silhouette of a person sitting on the porch.
    “Hello? Hello!” She waved her arms high in the air.  “Excuse me; I could use a little help. I’ve cut my foot and I’m bleeding like a stuck pig.”  The blob didn’t move. Did she mistake an outdoor statue for a person? She hoped not. She felt poorly at this point.  Gathering her energy, Hope drew in a deep breath and projected her voice. “Excuse me! Can you help me, please? Hello? Oh….”
    The world according to Hope whirled around her and spun out of control. Her body crumbled and rolled down the dune toward the house. And abruptly her world went dark.
    ***
    She was moving. Actually, she felt someone carrying her and moving her. But who? Her brain swam like when she’d twirled a hundred times on the grass as a child. Opening her eyes, she looked up at her savior and thought she must still be in “la la Land”. A strong jawline, a straight nose, and five o’clock shadow graced the profile of a Greek god. A hairband captured dark brown hair at the base of his neck. Her foot twitched and she groaned.
    “Easy now, I’ve got you. My name is James White and I’m just gonna bring you onto my porch to see to that foot of yours.”
    “Oh, thank you, James. Thank you so much. I don’t feel so well. I stepped on a shell. My name is Hope Evans.”
    “Hi there, Hope. Don’t worry. I’m first aid certified.” He laid her gently on a chaise lounge, grabbed a few pillows from some other chairs and placed them under her foot. “I’ll be right back. I need to get my first aid kit, and I think a cup of OJ for you to drink might help, too.” His smile reassured her that all would be well. He ducked inside giving her a chance to look around. She’d missed most of the sun rise, but she didn’t care anymore. Due to a kindhearted fellow, she’d found an angel at dawn instead.
    He returned in no time with the glass of juice and quickly attended to her nasty cut. She smiled as she willingly took the cup from his grasp. “Drink that up. It’ll help get you feeling better. You really did a number on your foot here, missy. I can patch you up temporarily, but I think you’re gonna need stitches. Is your car nearby? Wait it’s on your right foot. You couldn’t drive anyway.” 
    “Great, just great. No, my car’s in the garage at home. I walked the beach to watch the sun rise for my birthday. Happy freakin’ birthday to me,” she muttered and leaned her head back on the headrest.
    “I’ve got nothing doing until much later. I can take you. And happy birthday.” He smiled again.
    Damn, that’s one mighty fine smile, and his eyes! Holy bejeebers, hazel never looked so sexy. He sure as hell rivals the cover models I use on my covers. Well, had used anyway. Stupid economy! Okay, no depressing thoughts on my birthday. None. Think happy thoughts, and not about the lengthy stay in an urgent care facility.
    “You are one very kind man, James. It is James, isn’t it? I was a bit loopy when you told me.”
    “Yes, but it’s no big deal taking you to the Urgent Care, and if it is, no matter. I couldn’t very well let your foot fester and rot, now could I? If I did, the doctors