“To be fair, it was a really good omelet.” Then his lips curve up in that gut-warming smile of his, and I can’t help but smile back. He’s also soaking wet, water dripping from his beard.
“Okay, fine. It was a really good omelet. So, how are we going todo this?” I ask.
“I can close my eyes as I pick you up?” he suggests.
“Um, no. Going in blind is not the answer,” I say sternly through gritted teeth, trying to conceal the stinging pain pulsing up my spine to my neck.
“Okay, well what do you suggest?”
He’s looking at me, not at my body but into my eyes, and I truly do appreciate that he is focusing there instead of anywhere else. “Do you have gloves?”
Frown lines soon dent into his face. “Of course.”
“Okay, so go put those on, and I’ll do my best to wiggle this shower curtain around my body. Then you can help gently lift me out of this tub, and I can assess what is hurting.”
He tilts his head, and I can tell he has questions, but instead of asking them, he dutifully stands up and leaves the bathroom to retrieve gloves. Gloves that will keep him from touching my skin, because honestly, I’m not afraid of him touching me—I’m afraid of how I might feel if he does.
And what is the popular saying? Catch flights, not feelings? I’ll be on a plane in just a couple days, and I don’t need to have any feelings keeping me grounded.
He promptly returns with mittens on. “Ready?”
“I suppose so,” I mutter.
Boone carefully slips his gloved hands under my body, which is clothed in the shower curtain that I’ve managed to create into a more modest dress than most girls wear to prom. Stylish, too. I mean, who wouldn’t want to wear a dingy dress with bears on it?
As he lifts me slowly, I try not to wince when my head wobbles, but Boone notices.
“What’s wrong?” he asks with a slight panic to his breath.
“It’s my neck,” I groan.
“Lean into me,” he replies.
“What?” I ask, more panic to my breath than there was to his.
“Lay your head on my chest. I’ve got you,” he clarifies.
And while I know my neck will dull in its throbbing if I do, I’m not sure my heart will do the same. But I reluctantly lean in because I’m afraid the pain in my neck will make me cry if I don’t, and I’m not crying in front of this man. After all, I’m not a mope.
I feel my heart begin to pulse against my thin skin as I rest against Boone’s chest and inhale the strength of him, and as I do, I swear I feel the tempo of his heart pick up its pace, too.
Chapter Eleven
“It’s just a massage, Kate,” Boone argues.
“I’m fine. Truly. I’ve been taking care of myself for years, Boone. Basically, my entire life.” I cross my arms, looking down at him as he sits on the couch in front of the fire.
“It’s practically medical. Just let me help you,” he sighs. “This is not a big deal. What else are we going to do? Really?”
I look around the room. Boone doesn’t even have a television, and there’s only a small bookshelf with about twenty books on it.
“Don’t you get bored up here with nothing to do?” I ask. “I mean, whatdoyou do? Are you just up here hibernating like a bear, slumbering all day and all night? I’m guessing you’re not a sports guy since you lack an oversized screen, and either you only read a few favorite books, or you don’t read at all. Can you read?”
“I can read,” Boone laughs. “And I like being bored. Nobody is bored enough anymore. Now, please just sit down so I can help you. I can see you wincing, Kate. You might be tough, but you’re still human.”
“What if I’m not human?” I question, tilting my head to theside, trying to hide the fact that the slight movement feels like it might as well decapitate me.
“Well, maybe finicky water pipes are your kryptonite then,” Boone teases while shaking his head. “Kate, if you don’t sit down and let me help you, I’m going to stop making you coffee.”
