Page 4 of Protecting my Zinnia

"I've been trying to help as much as possible. I've hired a cleaner and a cook, and I went through her house searching for tripping hazards for any canes or walkers she might be using for the next few weeks."

She nods. "You're a good son."

We order our entrees, then I say, "I'm sorry I could only work on your job at night."

She gives me a dismissive wave. "Oh, don't worry about that. I'm just concerned that you were working so much. Of course the hospital comes first. Were you replacing old windows?"

"Several, yes. There were also two wings where the main floor windows didn't lock properly."

Zinnia frowns. "Oh no – was your mom in one of those rooms? That would have been unnerving."

"Yes. That's why I said it was a bit personal for me. I had an immediate chat with the higher-ups." I stare down at our clasped hands, at how delicate her pale skin looks against my tan. "I didn't want to be pushy, but I told them I was fixing Mom's room immediately. And if they wanted me to keep the issue quiet, they'd allow me to check the entire building, and update whatever was necessary."

"Wow. Were they annoyed?"

I chuckle. "At first they thought I was trying to shake them down for money. Then they realized I only wanted them to pay for the materials and whatever labor costs they could afford. Marty heard about it and pitched in."

Zinnia sighs. "See, this is the kind of small town wholesome vibe I was hoping for."

"I'm sure Chicago was nice, too."

"The art scene was amazing," she grins. "The winters were not."

Our saganaki arrives, and during the ritual of dousing the flaming cheese and shouting "Opa!" I can't stop watching Zinnia's magical blue eyes. I absorb every detail of her smile, her animated body language.

"Did you know that pouring sambuca over it and setting it on fire was started in Chicago?" she asks.

I chuckle, my hand dropping to her knee. "I'm part Greek, and I had no idea."

Her gaze drifts to where my palm is slowly caressing the top of her thigh over her dress. I pull it away. "Sorry. Too soon?"

"No, I…" She seems flustered.

"I'm sorry. My hands just naturally want to reach for the sweetest girl I've ever seen."

The pink tinge on her cheeks is so demure. Leaning close, I whisper, "Zinnia, you have all the power here. Just tell me yes or no, and I'll always obey. Okay?"

Damn, that look in her eyes. It has me melting more than the saganaki. "Okay. Thank you."

Our entrees arrive, and we enjoy our meal while discussing the stranger points of Sandersville that she's discovered so far, and our tastes in movies and TV. I'm intrigued that she's into classic films and books, not to mention the history of advertising.

"Is that what you do for a living?" I ask.

Zinnia tilts her head back and forth. "Kind of. I'm interested in community-based direct advertising. I do illustration as well."

"Well, I'd hire you on the spot if I had any need to advertise," I grin. "But Marty keeps me exactly as busy as I want to be."

"What do you do when you're not working?" she asks.

I make a face. "You're going to laugh."

She smirks. "I'll…try not to?"

"I coach an archery group, and occasionally teach private lessons."

Her luscious mouth falls open, and the urge to lean in and kiss her is almost overwhelming. "You're kidding."

"Nope. I've been an instructor for the past five years."