I hurry to put the offending item away and take several slow, deep breaths. He’s not interested in me that way, clearly. Everyone says Maverick is reckless and impulsive. And by everyone, Imean the media, Willow, and, well, him. I know there’s more to it than that, but if he were even the slightest bit attracted to me, wouldn’t his reckless and impulsive nature have him acting on it by now?
Clearly, whatever I feel is one-sided. And any actions I think of as him reciprocating is not that at all. Maybe I’m just so starved for affection and attention after having my heart battered by Dirk, I’m seeing things. That must be it.
By the time I walk back out to the kitchen, Maverick’s on the couch with Cat in his lap, purring loudly. Ignoring him, I go to the kitchen to finish dishing out dinner. It’s weird he’s not standing here, insisting on helping like he has every other night, but I guess bra-gate has him needing some space.
Heck, maybe he took one look at my bra and lost his appetite. It might be lacy, but it’s also not exactly small. It can’t be to contain my generous breasts. Maybe the stark evidence that I’m not a size two was enough to make him need space.
Except he’s not like that. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. Maverick’s not the kind of man to judge on appearances, or size, or anything like that. Not when he himself has been judged unfairly for so long.
“Ouch!” I cry out, so lost in thought I managed to slip while slicing the avocado and cut myself instead. Blood is welling up as I move to the sink to rinse my hand, and then he’s there.
“What happened?” His voice sounds worried as his arms wrap around me from behind, crowding me against the sink as he gently takes my hand out from under the cold water to inspect it. “Shit, Specs. What did you do?”
I want to push back against him, move him away from me. But I also want to sink into the protective, caring hold. This is why I can’t focus. Because, for the life of me, I can’t make sense of this man’s actions.
“I wasn’t paying attention. The knife slipped. I’ll be fine,” I say as Maverick tears off some paper towel and wraps it around my finger. He’s still gently clasping it in his hand as he turns off the tap and moves to my side.
“Let’s go get it cleaned up and make sure you don’t need stitches.”
I try to protest as he holds my hand in his, wrapping his free arm around my waist as if he’s worried I might faint or something, and walks slowly to the bathroom.
“Maverick, it’s just a little cut, honestly. It doesn’t need stitches.”
But my attempts at reassuring him that I’m fine are ignored as he sits me down on the closed toilet seat and lifts my hand in the air, giving me a look that tells me I’m to keep it there. I heave a sigh and prop my elbow on the counter.
He crouches down, removing a first aid kit from under the sink, opening it with a fierce concentration. I can’t help but stare in amazement at his gentle caregiving as he pulls out gauze, bandages, and some plastic vials of liquid.
“Okay. Let’s take off the paper towel and see what we’re dealing with,” he says softly. When he glances up, there’s nothing but concern and compassion in his eyes, and it floors me to see this side of him. All I can do is nod.
He’s incredibly careful, unwinding the paper towel to reveal the small cut. An adorable furrow appears between his brows ashe turns my finger, prodding lightly. “Good. It’s small, doesn’t seem too deep. We can just clean it and bandage it here. No stitches necessary.”
I resist the urge to tell himI told you so.Because this man, this sweet, kind man who is painstakingly gentle as he breaks the tip off one of the vials and squeezes what I assume is sterile water over the cut, is making it hard for me to formulate a clear thought, let alone talk.
He dabs it dry with gauze before wrapping a bandage around my finger. Then he takes away my ability to breathe.
Lifting my finger, his eyes trained on mine, Maverick presses the lightest of kisses over the bandage. “All good.” His voice is nothing more than a hoarse whisper, but I feel it vibrate through my entire body.
“Thank you,” I whisper back.
He shifts away, the space between us making me want to whimper in disappointment. But I let him take a step back, and another. Then I stand up, and with one more little smile, I walk past him, hoping he can’t see just how deep I am in all of my feelings.
Back in the kitchen, I make sure I didn’t drip blood onto any of the food before finishing the salad and dishing everything up. Setting the plates on the counter, I busy myself by pouring glasses of water and setting out cutlery. “Is Colin coming for dinner?”
“No. He just texted that it’ll be an hour before he’s here.”
I can’t bring myself to look at him, instead sitting on the very edge of my seat.
“Sadie.”
My food goes down my throat in a solid lump.
“Yes?”
“Can you look at me?”
I set my fork down and force myself to turn in my seat to face him.
“I’m sorry if I crossed a line. When I…you know.”
