Page 46 of Hearts on the Mend

“Wanted to help,” he says defensively.

“So, not putting moves on me?”

“Do you want me to?”

My pause is answer enough. Nolan swallows hard, even as I gather what little bits of sanity I have left and shake my head. Inside, I’m screaming, Yes, yes, yes. I do want Nolan, and that’s pissing me off more. He’s exactly the type of man I swore I would never be with again. But I’ve never felt this comfortable or safe with a man in my life.

There’s a new danger there, if I’m not careful.

His thumbs press into the bottom of my foot, and it’s as if my filter shuts off. I stuff another bite into my mouth, then wave the spoon around. “I used to be cool, you know. I used to dance on tables, and now I get excited watching which birds come to my bird feeder. I’m stuck in this old house, which may or may not be haunted, with the guy who walked me out of a bar after I punched another one in the face and broke his nose.”

“I remember,” he says calmly.

“When does this get easier? This year has sucked. And I’m so stressed I feel like I’m missing everything. Ruby doesn’t ask for opie-meal anymore, and she gets annoyed if I snuggle her at bedtime like I used to. She doesn’t wear princess dresses all the time either, and there was a time when I could barely get them off her to be cleaned.”

Nolan continues moving his fingers over my feet, listening, his eyes peeking up to meet mine.

“I blink, and she’s a year older, and what if I miss something? What if I’m so busy trying to survive that I miss her growing up? I had to pack up all her stuffies, and she hasn’t asked for them yet. Just, boom—done. Like when she was a year old and had a bad cold and then never used her binkie again.”

My throat tightens, and I try to swallow past the knot lodged there, but it doesn’t matter. A sob rips out of me anyway. I don’t even care. Fuck the luteal phase and my damn hormones.

“I pick her up and wonder if it’ll be for the last time.” I suck in another shaky breath. “Or if the Elsa sticker she gives me is the last. These little glimpses of her just disappear, and I won’t know until it’s too late.” I grab a tissue from the coffee table and blow my nose. “What if she stops needing me before I’m ready to let her go?”

“If you’re always looking for the end, you might miss the best part.”

I narrow my eyes, willing my body not to melt under his touch, but it’s hard. Everything about this feels right, even if I know it’s wrong.

“Very insightful,” I tease. But my voice hitches. I cover it up by wiping my nose again. At least the tears have stopped.

He shrugs. “Guess therapy’s working.”

A small defeated chuckle falls out of me before my lips pull into a smile. This man…

Nolan’s hands still. “Better?” he asks.

The soft light from the table lamp throws shadows across the sharp lines of his face. Here, in the quiet, it’s dangerous how much he feels like mine again. I can’t stop staring at his damn mouth.

“Hmm,” is all I can manage.

His fingers work over my fuzzy pizza socks, until he presses the pad of his thumb harder. I arch my back, and moan as the tension slips away. He makes a strangled sound at the back of his throat. It’s deep, almost like a rough groan, and it hits between my legs. Heat crawls up my neck at the memory of that night, laid out on the mattress as his lips moved over me slowly in a study of what made me needy. My foot flinches in his grip, halfway to pulling free, when color hits his cheeks.

At least it’s not just me.

“So, what was so bad about today?” he asks after an awkward beat.

I stare up at the ceiling as my pulse pounds and his fingers work over my tired flesh. Best I don’t see him touch me anymore.

“I hate boob lights. This room deserves a fun fixture and a ceiling medallion.”

I dig the bottle of polish out of my cardigan that I grabbed earlier from the bathroom. Had the pathetic idea to do something for myself tonight and paint my nails to make myself feel better. But I can’t unscrew the top because my fingers are too tired.

Nolan watches me fumble with it for a second too long, then holds his hand out. “Give it to me.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Maybe I want to help.”

I frown, passing it over for him to open as I share everything that happened during my shift.