Trent’s concussion had been pronounced mild, and there was no keeping him away from her side. There was an envelope stuck in the door, wedged in between the door and frame just above the bolt. It was one of those small envelopes that greeting cards come in, but it wasn’t sealed. She opened the envelope, aware of Trent’s curious eyes on her. She read it once, “Can’t stop thinking of you,” the gilded script in the front said. And in the inside, printed, was a personal note. “Chelsea, call me. There’s something I need to tell you. Dalton.” She handed it to Trent without comment. “What do you think he wants?” Chelsea shrugged. “That card. It’s almost as if he’s trying to be romantic.” Trent nodded. “I’ve heard from reliable sources that he’s not the best at expressing his feelings.” “Nothing says love like rigging someone’s chandelier to fall on them. He’s had four more hours to rig things up inside while I took you to the doctor.” Trent nodded.
