You seem to be stuck there."
Alice glared up at Matthew Lawson. She disliked when men stated the obvious, but they seemed incapable of not doing so. She tugged her foot again, but her pump's heel was truly wedged in the walkway crack.
"It would appear so, Chief Inspector."
He rocked on his cane. "Just plain old mister now, Doctor."
"Yes, Mr Lawson."
"Or Matthew," he said, staring at a nearby rosebush.
"Yes." She cleared her throat.
He took that as a hint. "Here—" He offered his shoulder.
For a few breathtaking moments, they struggled, she clinging to his arm while balancing on her one shod foot, he propped on his cane but tugging her trapped shoe free. Triumphant, they limped in unison to a nearby bench in the hospital garden.
He pulled some mysterious folding tool from his pocket. "I can fix this up. At least get you to a cobbler." He worked at straightening the bent nails on the heel. "I want to thank you for visiting while I was laid up with this leg," he mumbled. "Appreciate it."
"It was no bother. I work at the hospital, after all," she pointed out.
"Still, it was kind."
She tipped her head, puzzled.
"Like to repay you. Would you come to mine for dinner sometime?"
"Your what?"
"My squat. I'll cook."
"You cook?"
"Of course I do."
"Dr Blake doesn't cook."
"I don't have a housekeeper."
"I don't cook either," she confessed.
"I won't ask you to. Perhaps just help with the wash up." He held out her shoe. "All fixed, Doctor Harvey."
Fascinated, she turned the repaired pump in her hands and thanked him, but thinking that she would need to call on Jean again, just not for cooking advice this time.
"Please, call me Alice," she offered.