Set Up in SoHo (The Matchmaker Chronicles) Read Online Free

landing.
    Cabbages—surrounded by crates of tomatoes, parsley, and what looked like turnips. I’d fallen into a vegetable market. Or, more likely, a bodega cellar.
    So much for dead bodies.
    “Are you all right down there?” A deep voice floated through the open doors above me. For a moment my mind played tricks on me, and my heart lurched, thinking that Dillon had come to find me. To rescue me (which was a ridiculous notion for any number of reasons, but I’ve always had a vivid imagination).
    A dark head, clearly not Dillon’s, appeared in the opening. “Should I call an ambulance?”
    The idea of making a further spectacle was abhorrent. I shifted again, this time moving more slowly, anticipating the discomfort, and was satisfied that although the motion did make me a little nauseated, the pain wasn’t completely unbearable. “No,” I said, pulling together the tattered remnants of my dress. “I think I can make it home. I only live a couple of blocks away.”
    “Well, I’m coming down to make sure.”
    Just what I needed—a witness to my debacle.
    “No, really,” I called, “I can make it out. If you’ll just give me a hand?” But before I could manage to move a muscle, he’d climbed down the steps (a much more sensible mode of entry) and was kneeling beside me.
    “What hurts?”
    “My head. A little. And my chest. Well, more my side, really.”
    He reached out gently to push my hair aside. “You’ve got a pretty nasty cut there.”
    “That explains the sticky stuff,” I murmured. “I think I’d have preferred it be from a tomato or avocado or something.”
    He frowned, his fingers probing around the wound. “How hard did you hit your head?”
    “It’s a vegetable haven in here,” I said, by way of explanation, waving weakly at a pile of potatoes in a corner. “And not that hard. At least I don’t think so. Are you a doctor?”
    “No.” He smiled at that, and I was surprised at how much the gesture softened his face. “Just your average Good Samaritan.”
    I glanced up at the doorway, half expecting a crowd of faces. But the opening was empty.
    “You said your chest hurts?” His hands moved down my shoulders, still palpating.
    “I’m fine,” I said, pulling away. “Really.” Considering the situation, I was enjoying his ministrations entirely too much.
    “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.” He smiled again, and I nodded, grateful for the moment to let someone else be in charge. My head was starting to throb, and to be honest, I felt a bit woozy.
    “So what happened?” he asked.
    “I don’t know. I was just walking and then boom, I landed here.”
    “Drinking?”
    I searched his face for judgment, and seeing none answered honestly. “A little champagne.” Okay—not so honestly. “But I needed it. I just broke up with my boyfriend.”
    “I see,” he said, his words echoing Dillon’s.
    “No, it’s not like that,” I hastened to add, not sure exactly why I wanted to explain myself. “He’d just confessed to cheating on me. At a party. In front of half of the Upper East Side.” Actually, I was making it sound worse. Go me.
    “Well, that explains it all, then.” His laugh was warm and kind of gentle. It made me shiver. Or maybe it was the damp. Actually, it had to be the damp. The guy was a total stranger. I was just going into shock or something.
    “Well, I don’t think anything’s broken,” he pronounced, sitting back on his heels. “What do you say we get you out of here?” I nodded as he slipped his arms underneath mine and lifted me upward. For a moment the world spun like crazy, then it cleared and I actually managed to stand on my own two feet. “Thanks,” I said, clutching my dress. There wasn’t much material in the first place, and thanks to some pretty provocative rippage it was not easy to stay covered.
    “Here,” he said, slipping out of his jacket. “Take my coat.” Well, blow me over with a feather. Chivalry is alive and well