18
When I finally pass final inspection by the ER doctor and am released, poor Luke has been waiting in the reception area for over an hour. And yet his smile gives no indication that he is anything other than happy to see me.
“Hey, Jayne Dandy. You’re looking well,” he says, offering an arm for my still unstable shuffle. The heels are tight around my puffy feet, but I just need to get to the truck and then I can take them off.
Luke drills me on the ride home about what I ate at dinner, trying to narrow down the allergic culprit. He tags the shrimp as the most likely offender—same as the ER doc—but given Luke’s experience in the kitchen, he doesn’t rule out oils or spices that could’ve been added to the dish, especially considering I’ve never had shrimp issues before.
“I’m just glad Ho
