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Her eyes widened in shock. “Is that a thing?”

He nodded. “Acrotomophilia. Talked about it in our therapy group. It’s a legit fetish to want to be with someone missing a body part. Or, an obsession with the body part itself. Freaked out a bunch of us.”

“Eeuw.” Polly sipped her sweet, creamy coffee, needing to chase away the chill that image created. “I’m so sorry. That’s not why I like you.”

His eyes widened at that admission. And if she wasn’t mistaken, the skin above the beard stubble on the uninjured side of his face warmed with a tinge of pink.

“It’s not because of your eye or your scars. It’s because you’re tall and fit, you’ve got that sexy, gravelly voice and you make me feel safe.”

“You don’t have to fill up the dead airspace between us. I’m comfortable if you need time to think of what you want to say or if you ramble on for hours. Quiet works for me, too. Unless there’s something wrong, and I need you to answer me.” He reached across the table to cover her hand with his again. “I’ll try to do a better job of communicating so you don’t feel responsible for carrying a whole conversation by yourself. But be patient with me. I’m rusty at conversations with pretty women. And I like you, too.”

It was her turn to blush. She turned her hand in his so that they were touching palm to palm. That same buzz of electricity arced between them and swam through her veins. When she squeezed his fingers, he squeezed back, holding on as if he was savoring the contact between them, too. “I’m good at being patient, Daniel. Waiting for patients to tell me what’s going on with them. Being the quiet one in the family, waiting for my chance to talk. You’ll understand when you meet my sister. She’s a force of nature, as outgoing and brave as I am shy.”

“You’re brave,” he insisted. “You’re here with me, aren’t you?”

The warmth of the connection between them vanished when Pirate lifted his head beneath the table and softly woofed at the approaching waitress. Polly pulled away and sat back to see what goodies Mollie had on her tray for them.

“Here we go.” Mollie set a dinner plate in front of Polly, with a giant roll slathered in a cinnamon-vanilla-scented glaze that flooded the plate. “Ooey-gooey cinnamon roll and a tried-and-true breakfast classic.”

She set two heaping plates and a bottle of syrup in front of Daniel, while Polly inhaled the aroma that was as warm and delightful as the heat rising off the freshly baked confection. “Oh, my gosh—this thing’s as big as my head.”

Mollie grinned as she pulled a large dog biscuit from her apron pocket and fed it to Pirate. The happy crunching sounds at her feet made Polly eager to dig into her own late-night snack.

The dark-haired waitress checked the level on their coffee carafe to see if they needed a refill. “It was my granny’s recipe. They’re not good for a diet.”

“The sad thing is I’m sure I’m going to eat every last bite, and then lick the plate if no one’s watching.”

Mollie laughed. “Your family is always good for my ego when you come in. I’m so glad I get to bake as well as wait tables now. Being in the kitchen soothes me.” The bell at the front door tinkled as it opened and a cool blast of air blew in. A dark-haired man with a slight limp closed the door and unzipped his insulated jacket to reveal a badge hanging from a chain around his neck and a gun holstered at his waist. When his gaze found Mollie at their table, his smile softened the harsh lines of his face. Mollie smiled right back before excusing herself. “Tough-guy detective just walked in. Enjoy your meal.”

Mollie and the detective met each other at the service counter where they leaned in to exchange a kiss that was polite enough for public, but lingering enough to show their love for each other. While Mollie’s service dog trotted around the counter to meet them, the man briefly touched his hand to her belly before pulling away to pet and lightly wrestle with the Belgian Malinois.

It was such a loving, tender scene that Polly was surprised by the tug of jealousy she felt. She wanted that for herself one day. To be loved and cared for. To have a man beam a smile like that at just the sight of her. To have the right to kiss the man she loved whenever and wherever she wanted. To be bold enough—and feel safe enough—to initiate that intimate contact.

Averting her head from the private moment, her gaze landed on Daniel, stuffing a slice of bacon into his mouth while he poured syrup over his pancakes. Was she envious of a piece of bacon, too? Oh, hell. The implication of the feelings roiling through her hit her like a ton of bricks. She wanted to kiss Daniel. She wanted him to kiss her. This wasn’t about friendship. She was crushing hard on the moody veteran who made her feel more with a brush of his fingertips than Tate Emery grabbing her arm and holding her in place had. She wanted to find out if that electricity from the mere brush of their hands would intensify if their lips touched. If Daniel’s tongue danced with hers. If his arms held her close while his mouth consumed hers. It’d probably short out every nerve ending inside her. But oh, what a way to go.

Polly lowered her head to hide the blush she could feel burning her cheeks. Was this how her sister, Ashley, felt about her fiancé? How her mother felt about Burke?

She dug into her cinnamon roll, the delicious flavors making her crave something even tastier. Tastier? Was a kiss tasty? The revelation of desires and feelings rendered her speechless for several minutes. She wished she had more experience with men. It would probably scare Daniel off from helping her out, building a friendship or any other kind of relationship, if she opened her mouth and spilled out how wildly attracted to him she was.

So, she drank her coffee, chewed her cinnamon roll, licked the glaze off her fingers and tried to make sense of everything before she embarrassed herself.

Chapter Six

Several minutes—and half of her cinnamon roll—vanished before Daniel set down his knife and fork and leaned back against his seat. Polly was beginning to wonder if he’d already used up all his words, or if she’d spewed too many at him—or if she’d made him uncomfortable by not talking enough? Maybe he regretted inviting her out for coffee.

“There was a car in my neighborhood this morning,” he admitted, starting a conversation that gratefully pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts. “Parked on my street. Brown sedan. Seen better days. Couldn’t read the plates. Felt like they were checking me out.”

“Oh?” Was this what was worrying him?

“Saw it again at the hospital tonight. Circling the garage as though the driver was looking for a place to park. But he drove by several empty spaces.”

“Sounds like he was looking for something. Or someone.” Polly inhaled sharply. Although she was relieved that he’d initiated a conversation, she wasn’t sure she liked where this one was going. “You think it’s connected to the guy following me?”

“Maybe. This morning, I thought he was casing the neighborhood. My landlady is an older woman. A widow. Stubborn as all get-out, but she’d be vulnerable to a break-in or mugging. Maybe he was sizing up what kind of protection she has. Or he’s seen us together and was checking out what protection you have.”

Polly felt both worried and validated that this man believed she was being watched. “Will your landlady be okay?”

“I’ll make sure of it.” He took a long swallow of his coffee before setting down his mug and turning it between his hands. “I’ll make sure you are, too. Hopefully, he’ll underestimate me—not see me as much of a threat.”