After a beat, Adam nodded and shoved his sandy feet into his canvas boat shoes. If the shoe hurt his wound, he managed not to wince or limp as he moved toward the path. “This way.”
She had some belated second thoughts about inviting herself to his place, but she supposed that was foolish. She trusted him. Maybe it was herself she didn’t trust to keep her emotional distance from the man who’d once smiled at her on a beach and changed her life forever.
* * *
THE TWO-STORY STAFF apartment building was tucked into a secluded corner of the resort, next to the employee parking lot. Signs on the path from the main resort advised that this area was restricted to resort staff, and most of the guests respected those. Adam’s place was upstairs at the north end. He couldn’t help wincing when he climbed the stairs, trying to keep his weight on the toes of his right foot. He was pretty sure a piece of shell was lodged in his arch, though it could just be residual grit causing discomfort.
He unlocked his door, then motioned for Joanna to go in ahead of him. He saw her glance quickly around when they entered. His furniture was comfortable and functional, unadorned by knickknacks or decorative pillows, though a worn blue knitted throw was draped carelessly over one arm of the couch. A couple of paperbacks were scattered on tables, but otherwise, everything was in place. A utilitarian kitchen took up one side of the main room, separated from the sitting area by a quartz-topped eating bar. Glass cabinet doors revealed his dishes—service for four in plain white ceramic, though he almost never had guests for meals. His pots and pans hung from a rack above the stove.
“Nice place,” Joanna commented, turning to look at him as he closed the door. “Very military.”
He shrugged, not having to ask what she meant. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard similar comments. “I like things neat.”
“And maybe easy to pack up when you decide to move on?”
He turned away to avoid answering the too-perceptive question. “I’m going to shower off the salt before we do this. I’ll keep it quick. Make yourself comfortable. There’s soda, bottled water and lemonade in the fridge if you’re thirsty.”
He didn’t wait for her to respond.
True to his word, he was in the shower less than five minutes. He dressed in a clean resort polo and khakis, combing his wet hair back from his face with his hand. Because the shower had reopened the cut on his foot, he wrapped a hand towel around it and carried the first aid kit into the living room. He could have taken care of this himself, of course, but Joanna had seemed intent on helping, and he supposed it was good to have some privacy. Only to talk, of course.
When he went back to the living room, Joanna was reading the back cover of a paperback sci-fi novel he’d left on the coffee table. “Sounds exciting,” she said, putting the book back.
“Not so much. I bailed about halfway through.”
She looked from him to the discarded book and back again. “You aren’t going to finish it?”
“No.” He settled onto the couch beside her. “I’ve got others waiting to be read. No need to waste time on one I don’t enjoy.”
Smiling ruefully, she shook her head. “I can’t do that. Once I start a book, I have to finish it, even if I don’t really like it.”
“Well, there’s the difference between you and me.” One of them, anyway. And a very telling one. “So, do you still want to look at this cut, or do you want me to take care of it? I can, you know.”
“I’m sure you can, tough guy, but since I’m available...” She twisted to face him from the end of the couch and patted her lap. “Put it up here.”
He lifted an eyebrow. Raising hers in response, she patted again. “Your foot. Let’s see it.”
Swiveling, he straightened his leg and rested the heel lightly on her thigh. “That sounded a lot like a ‘mama voice.’”
She reached for the kit. “I’ve had a little practice. But for the record, I’m not feeling maternal toward you.”
He nodded. For that same record, he had no interest on being mothered by her.
It felt so damned weird to picture her spending the past six years caring for their child. Naming the boy, nursing him, teaching him to walk and hold a spoon and tie his shoes. It made sense, of course, that she’d bonded so tightly with Simon, whereas Adam was still coming to terms with his own biological connection to the kid. He didn’t even know what he was supposed to feel.
He was clueless when it came to parenting, couldn’t imagine what he had to offer the boy. Maybe one had to be there from the start to gain that sort of knowledge, though his own folks had never gotten the hang of it. If being a competent father was genetic, he’d probably missed out entirely.
Joanna prodded his foot
, focusing intently on the task. “I don’t see any pieces of shell, but you missed a little sand in the shower.”
“Maybe you should’ve volunteered to help me wash it. Ouch!”
She set aside the alcohol pad she’d just swiped not so gently over his wound. Apparently she hadn’t cared for being reminded of the showers they’d taken together. Probably hadn’t been the brightest thing to say, but it had just popped out.
Almost everything had changed in the past two days, but one thing was still the same—he couldn’t be this close to Joanna without reacting to her. Still. Just having her hands on his bare foot, even as deliberately impersonal as she was being, made his blood warm. Not that they could do anything about it. Not this time.
His life had become complicated enough from simply learning about Simon. Acknowledging his lingering attraction to Joanna could only complicate it more. It would be smarter to put those thoughts out of his mind and concentrate on the boy, whose well-being was paramount.