I don’t add that it’s also because I want one of those coconut macaroons.
Joel watches me until I swallow the bite of my sandwich. Appearing satisfied, he nods, and then proceeds to eat the rest of his sandwich.
We eat in a comfortable silence for a while, until both of us have finished our sandwiches and fruit slices.
“Macaroon?” I offer Joel at the same time I attempt to reach across the kitchen island for the plate. Unfortunately, I move too quickly, forgetting my injuries and end up putting too much pressure on my hip and wrist at the same time.
“Ah,” I call out when a jolt of pain shoots through me.
“Dammit,” Joel growls, surprising me. He’s up and on his feet in the blink of an eye.
“What are you doing?” I cry out when I find myself in his arms again. I don’t even know how I wound up here, or how he moved so fast.
But in that short amount of time, he’s scooped me up into his arms, exactly the same way he did off of my bathroom floor.
“You need to get back to the couch to rest before you make your injuries worse.”
“The doctor said I can walk around.”
“Doc’s not here,” he quickly retorts, carrying me over to the couch.
On instinct, I wrap my arms around his neck. The worst possible mistake I could’ve made. It brings my face within inches of his. When Joel turns his head to look down at me, it’s not lost on me how close our lips are to one another’s.
I’ve dated different men since my divorce. A few younger than me, some my age, and others were older. Only two relationships lasted longer than a couple of months.
The men were handsome, accomplished, or ambitious at the very least. But none of them had ever drawn out my attraction with such ease as Joel Townsend.
“I could’ve made it to the couch on my own,” I tell him as he lowers me.
“And risked hurting yourself worse in the process.”
I shake my head and part my lips to tell him he’s wrong, but he’s already gone back to the kitchen to retrieve the macaroons.
“Thank you,” I say just above a whisper when he lowers the plate so that I can grab a macaroon. I bite into the sweet, delicious coconutty treat and savor it.
I fail to recognize that I’ve closed my eyes only until I open them to find Joel watching me, barely restrained hunger in his eyes. If it weren’t for my injuries, I swear I would wind up squirming underneath the weight of that look.
“These are delicious,” I say. “You should try one.” I motion toward the plate in his hand.
I refrain from telling him how much anything with coconut is my absolute favorite, but nothing beats coconut cake.
Slowly, he takes one of the macaroons and brings it to his lips for a bite. He never takes his eyes off of me, but his eyebrows spike.
“Good, right?”
He grins.
“Meghan found a little bakery in town.”
“Rinaldo’s Place.”
“That’s the one,” I say. “I haven’t been in person yet, but as soon as I’m up and about I plan to go.”
“Don’t rush your healing just to get to the bakery. I can bring you more macaroons.”
My jaw slackens from the casual way he volunteers to run errands for me.
“Besides,” he continues, “I came over to bring you a couple of things to help decorate for Thanksgiving.”
