“Sorry about that. He’s your biggest fanboy.”
“Well, there was that lawyer at the party giving him some competition.”
Dusty Dawsonside. Right. “Thanks for feeding Dad’s obsession.”
“It was great. Surgery is my favorite topic, and I haven’t had anyone to talk to about it for a couple of weeks now.”
The water collected, filling the lining. “Where are your parents?”
“Traveling, staying with different relatives all over the country. They call weekly, and offered to come home when I was in the hospital, but Lola told them she’d handle everything.”
“When do you expect them back?”
“When they wear out their welcome everywhere else, I guess. Lola and Keith are house-sitting for them.”
We talked about our jobs, families, his brief but eventful—knee surgery involved—career on the Torrey Junction High School football team, our favorite true crime podcasts to listen to during morning runs. Well, his morning runs, my morning walks. Then it was the best books we’d read lately, our takes on current events—about which we were shockingly in harmony—and vacations we wanted to take. Both of us mentioned Dublin, Ireland.
He asked me lots of questions about my work, and he seemed genuinely interested—which surprised me. A lot of medical doctors get snobby about counselors like me without college training. Not Luke. He said he thought I was doing good things for people.
The pond filled too quickly.
“Thanks for all your help.” Mom came out to check on us. She wiped her hands on her gardening apron and replaced her pruning shears in the pocket. “You two have been amazing. We got the pond in before the storm, and King would have thrown his back out working all night to do it, if you two hadn’t shown up. I appreciate it. Really.” Mom had this smile that made her look like every part of her, inside and out, was made of love. “Come here, sweetie.” She pulled me into a hug, and then whispered too loudly in my ear. “He’s a keeper. Don’t mess this up.”
I jerked away. My face could have boiled water on contact.
“I appreciate the chance to do something with my hands.” Luke shook Mom’s hand.
Mom smiled. “No handshakes.” She pulled him into a hug. “Not around here.”
I was living in a parallel universe—one where I liked Luke Hotwell—a lot. Not as much as Mom and Dad apparently did, but still. One where his continuous kindness, even when he didn’t know I was looking, rolled like a river.
“I want to see you again,” Luke said as we drove back toward town. He wasn’t cleared to drive yet, so I had obliged.
“Is that a good idea?” It was a great idea, my hormones sang to the tune of the “Hallelujah” chorus. My fingers closed over the steering wheel, gripping it hard to keep myself from reaching over and running them through his hair. “Isn’t this all just a way to pass your time while you’re recovering?”
I ventured a turn toward him. He was looking at me like he could devour me. I bit my lower lip, and felt my neck get hot and splotchy.
“You have to agree there’s a connection.”
There was. But I—
“How do you know me so well, Luke?” He still hadn’t told me. “Don’t you think I’m ready to hear it yet?” That’d been the deal, he’d tell me when he thought I was ready.
We pulled up at The Citadel, and he came around to the driver’s side and got my door. That was a first for me. I climbed out, and he took my hand.
Every neuron from my fingertips to the top of my scalp went berserk. His hand was strong, a little callused or dry, probably from all the scrubbing he had to do for work. It was masculine. Sexy.
“You’re almost ready,” he said, turning toward me, looking down at me with those deep brown eyes that could compete against dark chocolate gelato for my favorite shade of brown. “You’re getting there.”
“Uh-huh.” That was all my brain could manage. Two syllables. Because all its power was occupied with how deep his gaze was delving into my soul. What all could he see in there? And was I actually letting him in?
I want to let him in. I want that connection with someone. With Luke.
He placed his hands on my hips, but then lifted one and reached it behind my neck, caressing it with his thumb. Oh, my heart. This heart doctor should be called a cardiac arrest causer. My back arched slightly, and I was putty to be molded.
Luke leaned closer, like he was going to kiss me. My ears rang, all systems shouted go! My lips parted, and my eyes closed.
But then, he brushed past my cheek and placed a feather-soft kiss beside my ear. There, he whispered, “I want to spend every day with you that I can, Sheridan.”