Page 22 of Reformation

That earns him an eye roll. “There he is! And here I thought a stay at the hospital made you forget your bad lines.”

“It’s going to take a lot more than a near-fatal blood clot for me to abandon those gems. Now, tell me what you want me to do. My services are all yours.”

Hoping that there wasn’t an innuendo laced through that last statement, I explain that I’ll be shouting out names to him, and he’ll be grabbing their premade swag bags, which includes the complimentary T-shirt.

I have a million questions to ask Garrett. Why is he here? He doesn’t strike me as a volunteer-at- seven-a.m. kind of guy. Is he feeling better? What is his prognosis? Is he allowed to be eating the donut he’s currently inhaling like it’s the last one?

Unfortunately, I can’t ask any of those questions because every runner comes over to our table at once, meaning we are moving nonstop for the next hour. Not that I was worried, but Garrett is a huge help. He didn’t blink twice when I called out names to him, and even by the end, he was helping me with the second list of runners that I inherited because of the no-show, drunk college kids. As he handed out the bags to the runners, leaning next to me, I couldn’t help but smell a hint of his cologne. I’m pretty sure it’s straight from a Bath & Body Works candle, and I’m going to go buy one immediately.

I also noticed that his left hand now is not donning a gold band like it was before.

“Is that it?” Garrett asks, snapping me from ogling at his forearms, which is where my vision went after I was done noticing his lack of a wedding ring. I never knew what Cassie meant by the phrase arm porn until now.

I look around and notice that all the runners have made their way to the starting line. “Yeah, that’s it. Working registration is the best because you’re in and out. It’s crazy for about an hour, but then you are done for the day.”

He gives me a questioning look. “Done? That’s it?”

I nod. “Yeah. That’s it. Unless you want to stay after the race and hand out bananas. Normally the late volunteer stragglers arrive for that.”

“So, if you’re done, and I’m done, that means we’re both free, correct?”

His question comes with a small smile and I hate that it turns my insides to goo. “I have a shift at the hospital later this afternoon. Why? What did you have in mind?”

Garrett steps from behind the registration table and holds his hand out for me. “If you think the donuts were good, then you have to try the French toast at this diner up the street. Come on. My treat.”

How can a girl say no to that?

Chapter Thirteen

Garrett

“What’s good here? I can’t decide between French toast or pancakes.”

Paige asks her question without looking up from the laminated menu that probably hasn’t been updated in thirty years. With her eyes cast down, reading every detail about a stack of pancakes, it gives me an opportunity to take her in.

She’s so… real. Genuine. I don’t know any woman who leaves the house without makeup on, let alone to go work voluntarily in front of hundreds of people first thing on a Saturday morning. Not only does Paige not have an ounce of makeup on, but she’s also more beautiful today than any other time I’ve seen her. She’s the kind of woman not many men deserve to share a meal with. Let alone a guy like me.

“I’m partial to the French toast. Though, I’ve never heard anyone complain about anything here. I guess it depends on what you are in the mood for this morning.”

I smile as her lips purse, her level of concentration quite high for a simple breakfast order. Or maybe it was my choice of words. Because I know what I’m in the mood for, and it’s definitely not on the menu.

“You know you could order both?”

She snaps her eyes up to mine. “Both? No. That’s way too much food. Though maybe I could take the leftovers to one of the patients I visited yesterday. He’d enjoy that. We were talking about breakfast foods and he mentioned how much he loves pancakes and that the ones at the hospital weren’t edible.”

The thought of her visiting another patient sends a ridiculous pang of jealousy through me.

She’s a volunteer at the hospital, asshole. She visits patients. You aren’t special.

“I thought you didn’t visit patients?” I ask, remembering our conversation from Christmas Eve.

She sets the menu down, apparently having decided. “I didn’t at that time. Getting to spend time with you made me remember how much I missed it. I’ve been staying for an hour or so after my shifts and dropping in on the patients who haven’t had guests.”

“Where did you come from, Paige Blackstone?”

I didn’t mean to ask that out loud, but judging by the look she is giving me, I very much voiced that thought.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

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