Page 9 of Found in Wild Sage

That’s unacceptable.

“Why?”

I would reach out and set a hand on her arm, or better yet, gather her to me. She needs holding. But we have a cordial, sometimes friendly, relationship. We don’t have a touching relationship.

This is logical. It is also a point of fact I find myself thinking about too often. Regretting it, maybe, though that is not particularly logical or helpful. There’s no point in thinking of wishes and desires when reality is tethered in the here and now. Not whimsy.

Not the tight grip in my chest when I see her every morning.

No, not that.

Reality means we don’t touch.

I get hugs from Charlie every day. I have never once hugged his mom.

That’s beside the point.

“Because I believe having a spouse would put you in a stronger position for keeping Charlie.” My tone is the one I use for frazzled parents and worried patients.

She straightens in her seat. “Right, I understand that. I agree, at least in theory. But why would you offer to marry me? I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but Declan—Dr. Ryan, you have to⁠—”

“Declan, please. You should always call me Declan.” I hope she doesn’t hear it as the plea it is. I’ve never loved the sound of my name more than when she says it in her textured, earnest tone.

Her lips pinch for a moment before she nods. “You have to see why this seems completely incomprehensible to me. You are…” She waves a hand at me from head to toe.

That’s supposed to mean something?

“I am… what?”

Her eyes shut as she exhales. I suspect she’s praying for patience. I can’t blame her. I’ve never been someone who’s forthcoming. I don’t fill in the blank for people. I’m not doing that here, either, and I don’t know how to make that right.

“You are a handsome doctor with a stable job and a lovely family. You are about as appealing as someone can be. Why would you marry me when you could be with someone for real? You could probably have your pick of women.”

Because I’d pick you.

Any day.

In any timeline.

For any reason.

But I won’t tell her that. I can’t.

I will not make her feel anything but free to enter into this knowing it’ll help her. If she feels the burden of my attraction to her, that’s unhelpful. And it’s getting dangerously close to repeating an ugly history I’ve already lived where a woman seemed to be choosing me but in the end was doing everything but that. I can help, and that’s all it is. Period.

“I’m not interested in my pick of women. I don’t date and I’m not sacrificing a social life in order to do this.”

Her lashes flutter. I’ve seen this look before. She’s blindsided by something, but I’m not sure what. Did she think I have a rampant social life? That I’m a man about town? Seems unlikely.

“I… I’m sorry, Declan. I don’t know what to say.”

Her eyes search mine as though she’s looking for an answer. I desperately want to give it to her. But her method of decision-making is different from mine. Of course it is. She’s a mother—she’s factoring in things I’ve not even dared dream about. So instead of my usual logical approach, I try a different tack.

“Tell me one thing. Are you willing to do this if it would help?”

I’m tempted to ask if she has reasons she doesn’t want to. Someone she’s interested in, or plans this would ruin. But it’s already complicated enough.

Complicated, yes, but it is a solution.