“Do you have pets?” I asked, trying to be normal.
Gentry shook his head. “No, but I’ve always wanted them. It’s the same reason I don’t do relationships. I travel too much.”
I felt his eyes on me as if he was trying to tell me something, maybe warn me off from my fantasies of being swept off my feet into an unrealistic domestic ever-after with Gentry Kane.
As if. There would never be a moment in which I actually thought Gentry would want to date me.
“That must be hard. I would think travel has its ups and downs… things you love about it and things that get old really fast.”
He nodded. “We’re heading out again in early February for a two-month Australian tour. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.”
While keeping my eye on his hand’s range of motion, I pictured Gentry singing in front of an amped-up Australian crowd. “That sounds amazing. Do you at least get to travel first class and sleep on the flight over there?”
“We charter a jet, so yeah.”
My face heated with embarrassment. Of course they went on a private plane. I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like for him trying to board a regular airplane while being recognized and mauled by enthusiastic fans. I’d only ever flown on a plane once, but I remembered how chaotic it was at the airport.
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Makes sense.”
I reached out and changed his grip again, this time replacing the ball with the putty and showing him a stretching motion. After a few minutes, his deep chuckle filled the kitchen. “Didn’t think I’d be playing with Silly Putty in my thirties.”
I sat back and crossed my arms in front of my chest. “I’ll have you know that’s Thera-putty. Totally different thing.” I added in a fake cough, “Exact same thing for ten times the price.”
His laugh was like a prize I wanted to keep winning. “I see. And I’m paying you for this?”
I grinned at him. “Hopefully your insurance company is covering most of it, but I do accept tips in the form of gingerbread and fancy coffee.”
Gentry’s eyes sparkled at me, and I spent a moment wondering when I’d lost my ability to breathe at higher altitudes. “It’s a deal.”
I tried to return to a modicum of professionalism, walking him through more assessments and exercises until I saw a bead of sweat trickle down his temple.
“That’s my signal to wrap it up for the day,” I said, reaching to take the putty away from him and replace it in the tub. “I’ll leave this here for our next session.”
“I’m fine. I can keep going,” he said, hitching up his shoulder to surreptitiously wipe the sweat away with his flannel shirt.
I reached out and put a hand on his forearm. It was mostly an excuse to touch him, but I also wanted him to hear me. “You can’t rush therapy, Gentry.”
“It’s Gent,” he said.
Our eyes met, and I dreamed a thousand dreams in which he scored the starring role. “Gent. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
He suddenly looked unsure, enough to remind me of how flabbergasted I’d been when he opened the door. I’d been terrified I’d just experienced some kind of psychotic break.
“Don’t go,” he breathed. “Please.”
I continued to stare at him as if maybe by thinking about it, I’d summoned the psychotic break.
“Winter… I…” He laughed and looked down at the table, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this.”
He slid his arm out of my grip and turned his palm around to clasp my hand. I stared at our fingers twisting around each other.
Gent’s voice was lower when he continued. “I came after you that night.”
Yep, it was official. Psychotic. Break.
“I called out for you, but you kept going. I… I told you to wait. In front of the entire crowd. I actually ran offstage and out into the street to find you.”
I couldn’t breathe. If I moved, everything would disappear into a puff of smoke. That had actually happened? It hadn’t been my imagination?
“Say something, beautiful.”
I felt a fat tear leap from the side of my eye and trail down my face. How embarrassing. He was talking about wanting to fuck me, not wanting to whisk me away into some kind of fairy-tale romance.
I swept it away as fast as I could as if I had a horrible itch on my face. “What? What?” And then again, because there was nothing else to say. “What?”
He reached up to thumb away the next tear. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not. Don’t be ridiculous.”
He searched my eyes for the truth. God only knew what he’d find. “Winter, I’ve spent the past week imagining you naked underneath me.”
I wondered if I might slide off the chair and onto the floor. My head spun with his words. “You really called out for me? It wasn’t my imagination?”