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She dropped her sandwich in the dirt and frowned. “Ah, shoot. That was my last bite.” She picked it up and chucked it in her bag.
“Want mine?” He was suddenly too nervous to eat.
She nodded and licked her lips as he handed her his sub sandwich.
“Hope you’re okay with lots of fixings,” he said.
“Absolutely. I’m not picky with food, only with baking.”
He remembered her plate of cookies. “I hope you’ll forgive me about the whole cookie thing. I really did like them.”
Her mouth froze around a bite of food.
He laughed and motioned for her to finish.
“You did?” she asked when the food was long gone.
“Yeah, they weren’t bad.”
“Not bad, huh? Well, what flavors do you like?”
He looked down at the cracked cement wall and considered resting his hand there. As soon as he did, he moved it back to his lap. Too rough.
“Unfortunately,” he said, “I’m very picky, but you started on a good path. I’m a citrus guy. Lemons, oranges, limes, all the flavored candies people usually eat last.”
“I don’t,” she said, not even blinking. “I love lemon the most.”
“Well, I’d love to give your cookies another try. As payment for doing your dog-walking. And only when your hand is feeling better.”
Her face brightened into a smile. His heart leapt, and he looked away. It was only normal to have feelings for someone he was caring for. He knew he wasn’t capable of a normal relationship, but attraction was still there whether he wanted it or not. Or maybe it was sympathy.
He rolled his shoulders back, trying to convince himself that was true. But he had a sinking feeling he was all wrong.
8
Hannah
Hannah’s heart raced as she jogged after Ginger and Snaps and Jason. The two black mastiffs ran at full speed down the sidewalk, and it was all Jason could do to hold onto the leashes.
“Are you okay?” she called.
He raised his thumb in the air but kept his attention forward. Once they made it to the dog park, the dogs would be tired enough to rest, but until then, it was going to be a struggle.
She brought her fingers to her lips and whistled. The dogs stilled midstep. It was a trick she had taught them early into their walks, but the halt usually only lasted long enough for her to catch her breath.
Holding the leash to his knees, Jason gasped for air. “Wha—how did you—”
The sound of his voice distracted Ginger, and she started running again.
“Hold her tight,” she called.
He groaned and sped up his sprint. When he’d told her right before they left the house that he never worked out at a gym, she worried he wouldn’t be able to keep up. But so far, even in work clothes, he had mostly stayed by her side.
The day had been full of surprises.
She brought her uninjured hand to her face and remembered the touch of his soft skin against hers. His tender act of kindness had meant everything to her, even more so because she could see the internal struggle in his eyes. As the doctor pulled layer after layer of dead skin away, she was too enamored with his hands to notice any pain. Even his fingernails were perfectly taken care of.
She flexed her fingers and then balled them at her side—something she’d seen him do a dozen times—trying to see what the appeal was. But after a few seconds, she released her fist and spread her fingers out toward the sun. She lifted her injured hand above her head. With less blood being pumped to her fingers, it relieved some of the pressure. The wind in her face, the sound of dogs barking, and Jason grunting—they were her favorite sounds of the day.
