“Mrs. Chen!”
“What? I’m old, not dead. That boy is easy on the eyes, and he looks at you like you’re the last piece of chocolate cake at a church social.”
I nearly choked. “He does not.”
“Oh, honey.” She patted my knee with the patience of someone explaining basic math to a kindergartner. “I may be seventy-three, but my eyes work just fine. That man lights up like a Vegas billboard every time he sees you—and don’t think I didn’t notice him leaving here the other day with his shirt all torn up and a goofy grin on his face.”
“That was Cuddles. She attacked him. Again.”
“Attacked him?” Mrs. Chen looked offended on behalf of her dog. “Cuddles is a perfect lady. She was probably just trying to get his attention so he’d notice her sweet neighbor.”
“Her what?”
“You, Theodore. Keep up.” She gave me an exasperated look. “So, are you two dating or just making googly eyes at each other across my picket fence?”
I blew out a breath that sounded as heavy as my heart felt.
“That doesn’t sound good.” Her eyes narrowed as she stretched her arms behind her and leaned back.
“We’re trying,” I said, my shoulders sagging. “We were supposed to have lunch today, actually, but my babysitter’s car broke down, and I couldn’t find anyone else on short notice, so . . .”
“Ah.” Mrs. Chen’s voice softened, and she patted my arm with understanding. “The eternal single parent dilemma.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“You know,” she said gently, “not all men run away when things get complicated.”
“Most do. Especially gay men. My people perfected the art of being flaky.”
“Butnotall.” She squeezed, her bony digits digging into the meat of my arm. “And from what I’ve seen, that boy doesn’t strike me as the running type. More like the ‘charge headfirst into battle’ type. He might not know which battle he was charging into, bless him, but he’d charge for dear life.”
Her cackle—the one that followed her backhanded compliment, had me grinning despite my mood. That was exactly Jeremiah, courage and heroic pride wrapped in a stunningly beautiful package—but not quite understanding what he was doing in the moment, or why.
He was strong and sexy and protective and . . . so damn sweet.
“Theo,” she said, her tone turning soft and thoughtful. “I need to tell you something.”
I turned, my brow furrowing at the sudden shift. Lines creased her face, adding a dozen years to her hard-won seven decades. My heart crawled into my throat as I waited for words I somehow knew neither of us wanted to speak or hear.
“I need to have . . . an operation.”
I began to speak, but she held up a palm, silencing me. “This is serious, Theodore, and . . . well . . . any woman my age knows things can go wrong.”
“Mrs. Chen—”
“Just let me get this out,” she snapped, then settled. “It isn’t happening for a couple of weeks, so there’s time to make plans, but I need to talk to you privately when you have a moment.”
“Of course. Whatever you need. We’ll be here for you, okay? You’re not alone.”
She was alone, and we both knew it. No children, no husband or partner, no extended family—at least not within a thousand miles. She had to be terrified, facing whatever this was without anyone to help her through it.
Before I could think of anything else to say, a commotion in the yard brought both our heads up. Debbie, oblivious to our conversation, was attempting to climb onto Cuddles’s back like she was mounting a pony, while the patient golden retriever stood perfectly still, apparently willing to serve as a very large, very furry horse.
“Button, no!” I called out, jumping to my feet. “Don’t ride the dog!”
“But she likes it!” Debbie protested, managing to get one leg over Cuddles’s back before I reached them.
“I’m sure she does, but she’s not a horse. You could hurt her back or fall off and hurt yours,” I said, lifting Debbie off the bemused dog. “And I need to get you home and fed before you start thinking Cuddles looks like a snack.”
