I narrow my eyes, playing into it. “Believe it or not, I’ve made it twenty-seven years without having anyone to catch me when I fall. I don’t need anyone to start now.” After swatting at his arm, he finally releases me, and I limp away. “I’m fine,” I say, swiping a hand to keep him from touching me again because I truly don’t believe I could take it. “I landed funny. I’ve handled way worse.”
He huffs out a frustrated breath, then his steps fade as he walks into the kitchen, and I hobble up the stairs. WhenI get to the door of my room, Arthur is suddenly there, placing something cold in my hand.
“Put this on it, at least?” With his warm fingers wrapped around mine, the cold from the ice pack hardly even registers. I whisper a thanks and limp inside, shutting the door as my heart threatens to leap out of my throat.
I’ve tossedand turned for the last two nights. Not because of my ankle, though that hasn’t help, but because every moment Arthur and I have had together kept replaying in my head, like a movie on a loop I couldn’t end.
Yesterday, when he handed me the book I’d been trying to get, he tried to say something about the other night, but I shut it down fast, thanking him for helping me then handing him a loaf of banana bread I’d baked. Avoidance seems to be my strategy, and so far it’s working beautifully.
It’s almost time for me to head to Maeve’s, and dinner is nearly ready, so I decide to do a few stretches on the back deck while Luther is in his dog run. I haven’t had a ton of time with him, but he was at the stable yesterday, on a long leash that made it so he couldn’t reach me whenever I walked from my office to see the horses. And he’s happy enough to be around people, playing with his toys and napping in the sun.
I’ve just gotten into rabbit pose when the back door opens and Arthur steps out. He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t flinch when Luther makes an excited noise. I givemyself ten seconds in the stretch before I slowly unfold and sit back on my feet.
“Hey.” I look up to find his eyes already on me. “Was everything okay with Jasper? I was out with Scout today, and I swear she knew something was up with him. She didn’t seem herself, and as soon as we got back, she kept pulling me toward Jasper to check on him.”
Surprising the crap out of me, he lowers in front of me on the deck, crossing his legs. “Yeah, he’s colicky. Doc came quickly, and thankfully, it seems to be pretty mild. He’s on painkillers now, and Corey is taking the first shift walking him and making sure the rest of the horses stay calm. Thanks for the heads-up on that today. Jasper is always up to something, so no one thought much of it, but you did.” His serious gaze is equal parts intense and gentle.
I shake my head, brushing off his words. “It was Scout. She knew.”
“And you followed her lead. You’re really intuitive, Alice, and Scout knows that. She trusts you already.” Like every other time Arthur speaks, his compliment is sincere, and impossible to ignore this time.
“Thanks,” I mumble, mostly because I don’t want to be rude.
“What were you doing out here before I interrupted you?” He cocks his head to the yoga mat I’m on.
“A few stretches for my neck and shoulders. If I don’t keep up with them, I end up with a headache and many trips to the bathroom where my face becomes intimately acquainted with the toilet.” I wince at the thought. This man has now witnessed me being sick twice, and now I’m talking about it. How unsexy. Come to think of it, that’s probably what I should be doing—reminding him how I’m the pukey girl.
Distance. Create more distance.
“So your headaches are brought on by shoulder and neck pain?” He doesn’t seem fazed by the barf talk. Crap.
“Yeah. It’s from an old injury when I was a kid.” That’s always the vague response I give when people ask about my chronic cervicogenic headaches.
“The same one that happened thanks to the dog?”
Damn, this man rememberseverything.
“The very one,” I answer quickly, moving to stand. He does the same, and before I can begin rolling up my mat, he’s already starting to. “Oh, you don’t have to?—”
His look stops me from continuing. It reminds me of the way Owen looked at Maeve when he feigned frustration with her. It’s a loaded look, but there’s no menace in it.
“Okay. Thank you. Anyway, dinner’s nearly ready for you. It’s not much, just chicken and potatoes.” I take the perfectly rolled mat from him, careful not to let our hands touch.
“For me? Are you not eating?”
“Girls’ night, remember? Plus, you cooked for me the other day, so it was my turn to pay the kindness back.” I give him a small smile, but before I can head back inside the house, he arrests my movements with his words.
“That’s not how this works, Alice.” My mind swirls with confusion and worry. “There’s no paying anything back. You didn’t have to make me dinner, like you didn’t have to thank me for giving you ice for your ankle with baked goods.” He steps into my space, and I’m grateful for the mat in my arms that forces our bodies not to get too close. “I appreciate that you cooked, but I’d much rather have dinner with you. The banana bread you made was delicious, but it would have been better if we’d shared it with a cup of coffee. If I help you with something, it’s not because I want or expect anything in return. I really need you to understand that, okay?”
I gnaw on the corner of my lip, unsure how to respond because I’m not sure if I know how to do what he’s asking. Kindness has always been transactional, especially with the people closest to me. “I’ll try,” I answer honestly.
“Good.” He reaches up and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I have the next shift with Jasper, so I might not be home when you get back.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Thanks for dinner, goldie. Have fun tonight.” That’s the second nickname he’s given me that I don’t understand. His tiny smile lingers a little longer than usual before he hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m gonna give Luther some attention before I eat that delicious-smelling dinner you made me.”
“Okay,” says the broken record, also known as Alice. “I-I’ll see you.” And with that, I leave.
