Page 29

“Looking for something?” he asked.

“My sanity?” But there was little humor in her smile as she faced him again. “A mug I had at the hospital has gone missing. Gift from my sister. Thought there was a chance I’d brought it home and had forgotten.”

“I doubt you forget much, Sunshine.” He logged the missing mug away in his brain, along with the other strange events happening around Polly.

“Hot chocolate? I drink it to make me sleepy on nights like this. Or I can make coffee if you plan to stay up all night.” She shot him a scolding look. “Though you probably shouldn’t.”

“Hot chocolate’s fine.” He didn’t need any more caffeine burrowing under his skin, either. He needed the warmth of a mug to thaw out his fingers, and the rustle of a dog settling onto the quilt beside the sofa to soothe the tension he felt.

After she handed him his mug, they sat on the couch with their knees almost touching. She pulled the quilted throw over both of their laps and turned on the late news, although neither of them really watched it. Luna burrowed into Polly’s side and fell instantly asleep with one paw splayed dramatically across her thighs, as if giving her a hug. Pirate stretched out on his bed near Daniel’s feet, chin on his paws, eyelids and ears all drooping with fatigue.

They talked in low voices about little things—how her sister had rescued Luna and her littermate as very young pups, and they’d had to feed them formula with an eyedropper. Mrs. Maynard’s habit of pressing leftovers on anyone who passed her stoop. The homeless man she’d treated at the hospital who believed his dog heard ghosts talking about her. The minor indignities of physical therapy and another funny story about his late teammates, Little Al and Big Al. Finally, the conversation turned inevitably toward the day.

“You think the guy in the car was looking for me,” Polly said. Not a question. “And he tried to hurt me outside the diner tonight.”

“He may have been trying to hurt me,” Daniel said. “I think he’s learned I’m between you and him now.”

“He keeps messing with my head. Playing mind games for some reason I don’t understand.” Her fingers toyed with the edge of her mug. He noticed the way her nails were short and unpolished. A few freckles dusted the backs of her hands. “I don’t like you becoming a target because of me.”

He met her eyes. “Doesn’t change anything.”

She took that in as if it were something heavy and precious. “Thank you.”

He shrugged because you’re welcome felt too impersonal. He reached out instead and touched the back of her hand with a single knuckle, and she turned her palm up and threaded their fingers together like she’d been waiting for that exact invitation to touch him.

It would be so easy to lean in. To taste the chocolaty sweetness of her breath and the softness he imagined would be there, to follow where his body had been tugging since the diner. He could already imagine the give of her mouth under his, could already hear the way Pirate would exhale like an old chaperone watching them get closer to each other.

But he also felt the throb in his knee and the rasp under his sternum that warned him how quickly the adrenaline of attraction could flip from useful to ugly. He saw the cigarette-smoking shadow in his mental map and the blur of brown metal racing toward them that he hadn’t been able to shake loose from his head. He felt, in his bones, that kisses shouldn’t be the thing to reach for because you almost got hit by a car. They should be the thing you reach for because you can stand still and choose to connect to that person.

He set his mug on the table, stood, and fluffed a pillow from the end of the couch. “I’ll take the sofa.”

“Since my sister moved out, there’s a spare bedroom. You don’t have to—”

“I want to be between you and the door.” He picked up the throw and shook it out across the cushions. “I sleep light. If anything happens outside, I’ll hear them. If Pirate doesn’t hear them first.”

She carried their mugs into the kitchen and rinsed them in the sink before returning to the living room. “Okay. There’s a new toothbrush in the drawer beside the bathroom sink. Towels are in the linen closet if you want to clean up. Help yourself.”

He nodded.

Polly hovered in front of the couch. Close enough to touch. Close enough that he could see the tiny freckles at the bridge of her nose. She lifted her hand to his cheek—right over the damaged, useless cheek where he could barely feel her touch—but he could feel it, and he wasn’t freaking out at her hand there. Maybe those fragile places inside him were tougher than he’d thought they were.

“Thank you for staying,” she whispered.

“Thank you for letting me,” he answered, just as low.

He mirrored her hold on him, cupping her jaw and tunneling his fingers into the heavy dampness of her hair. He could feel the jump of her pulse against his fingertips, the way her breath changed when he leaned in and rested his forehead against hers. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the single decision of now or not yet.

He chose not yet. Chose to make their first real kiss something he’d walk into without spying eyes and the screech of brakes in his blood. Something his fractured brain could have no regrets over. Besides, virgin? He needed to take things slow with Polly. He probably shouldn’t take things at all with her, but she was the sweetest, gentlest, most right woman he’d ever met, and he couldn’t resist.

He angled his mouth and pressed his lips to her forehead. Her skin was warm beneath his lips. Soft. A benediction he had no right to give and couldn’t stop himself from offering. “Good night, Sunshine,” he murmured.

Her arms slid around him, small and fierce, her cheek tucking against the front of his shoulder as if the place existed just for her. He rested his chin at the crown of her hair and wrapped her in, as tightly as he could. She smelled like green apple shampoo and peace.

They stood like that a long time, breathing the same quiet air, until Luna snored softly and Pirate huffed in what Daniel decided to call approval. Polly tipped her face up, eyes shining in the low light. “You could have kissed me, you know. I wouldn’t have protested.”

The corner of his mouth quivered with a smile. “Good to know.”

She poked him gently in the chest. “But FYI, your hugs are to die for. Good night, Daniel.”