“Well, I’m sure you’ve already considered all the terrible things that could happen, right?”
“Yes.”
“What are some alternative possibilities?”
Katrina made a face.
“Are you rolling your eyes?”
Was Andy psychic? “No. Um, I suppose... it could be possible people find out my name and nothing happens. Or it dies down on its own and I go back to my life.”
“Those are definitely valid possibilities.” Andy paused. “How’s this for a suggestion? I know you work on this a lot, but be more vigilant to your thinking patterns in a time of stress like this. When you start to catastrophize, take a step back and acknowledge you may be overestimating the probability that the worst will happen.”
That seemed like a reasonable enough suggestion. “Okay.”
“It’s not homework. It’s a suggestion,” Andy said, and there was a smile in her voice. “And remember to call me if you need me. Your support system is there to help you out when you need it.”
“Understood. I’ll try to focus on other things too.”Like how Jas will never love me. No, maybe not that.
“Always good to stay busy. Remember sometimes social media is flat and overly simple. It’s not the whole world, even if it seems like it sometimes. There’s millions of people out there who have no idea who CafeBae is.”
“Got it.”
“I can’t wait to hear all about farm life when you get back.”
They said their goodbyes and Katrina placed her phone on the bed. She quickly showered and changed. No newspapers here, but she’d catch up on the world online. Then breakfast, then work.
She left Doodle sleeping and tiptoed into the hallway. She paused outside Jas’s door. Was that a thud?
She stood in the dark hallway for a minute, and then heard it again. A thud, followed by a grunt. She knew his grunts. This was a pained grunt.
She knocked lightly. “Jas?” she whispered.
Nothing.
“Jas?” she said, louder.
She placed her hand on the doorknob and hesitated. Entering Jas’s bedroom was fairly intimate, but if he was hurt, she didn’t want to ignore him. She heard a low, tortured moan, and that made up her mind for her.
There was enough light coming in from the rapidly lightening sky to see Jas clearly. His head rocked back and forth on the pillow. He’d kicked the sheet off. He was naked except for a pair of shorts. Seeing that much skin might have normally sent her packing, but he was in so much distress, she couldn’t leave.
His lips parted and he gasped. His brow was furrowed. She walked over to the side of the bed. “Jas,” she whispered, but he was in deep REM sleep, his eyes moving rapidly under his eyelids. And what he saw wasn’t making him happy.
“Shhh,” she crooned, and placed her hand on his cheek. He immediately stilled. Jas shifted his legs and she glanced down. This was as much of his flesh as she’d ever seen, but she could barely register his lean stomach when the web of scars on his right thigh and knee existed.
She’d seen these scars before. The details were murky, but she knew he’d been injured in the course of duty, that he sometimes moved a little stiffly when it was cold out. Katrina wasn’t a veteran, but she knew trauma. She knew scars, scars on the body and on the soul.
She studied the lines of exhaustion and pain etched into his face. Her heart melted. He was so focused on her, always. On her comfort and well-being.
Because you’re his client.
Her lips twisted. Her silly romantic dreams were just that, dreams, and he couldn’t help that he didn’t feel the zings she did. Nothing else would come of this, but she considered him a friend. She’d be a better friend, his best friend. He had things going on in his life that had nothing to dowith her, and she ought to be more sensitive to all the stuff he might be dealing with, the stuff he didn’t show her or anyone else.
Katrina didn’t want to wake him. On the contrary, she hoped he caught up on his sleep. Before leaving, she opened his window a crack so air could flow into the room. A poor substitute for her cool hand on his face, but probably a much safer option to mitigate his discomfort while he slumbered.
Chapter Thirteen
JAS HAD GROWNup with peach everything—peach cobbler, peach pie, peach jam, even peach sandwiches. He might not be a farmer but peaches ran in his blood, and occasionally his mouth watered when he remembered the taste of the first crop of the season, fresh from the trees.
