Page 37 of Wreck Me

Ginny began the careful maneuvers required to stand up without overstressing her weak ankle, but it wasn’t going to be easy.

Suddenly, Nico’s free hand was in front of her. “Can I help?”

She slipped her fingers into his, and he gave just the right amount of boost and solidity for her to stand safely.

Once upright, he held her hand longer than seemed necessary. Probably he sensed she was a little off balance still, both physically and emotionally. Whatever his reason, she kept her eyes fixed on their hands—well, his hand, really. Like the rest of him, it looked as if carved from marble by a European master. Strong veins wrapped over stretched tendons, making visible the machinery of his body.

Most concerningly, it felt like something—an energy or a mood—was transferring directly from his fingers to hers. She quickly pulled her hand away before the transfer of whatever it was had completed. “Sorry. My hands are cold from being outside.”

“No worries,” he said, smiling and pushing his own hand into his pocket. “Mine are extra warm from working over the stove.”

The dogs decided they had displayed quite enough patience, thank you very much, and began mobbing Nico for their food.

“All right, all right.” He stepped a few paces away, then bent and gave them each their lunches, patting their backs as he did so.

Ginny caught herself admiring his physicality again. It had been sweet of him to think of the dogs,but how was it possible for someone to deliver dog food sexily?

“Got a fourth bowl for me?” she asked.

He walked back to her. “I was thinking you might prefer your bowl filled with farfalle.”

The sun was directly behind his head, and she had to squint against it to look up at him. “Farfalle? What do you take me for, a fancy lady?”

He laughed, and it seemed to break whatever tension had developed between them. “It’s just Italian for those little bow tie shaped noodles. But, no, I don't generally associate you with fancy. I seem to recall your lunch the day we met involved peanut butter?”

“It didn’tjustinvolve peanut butter. There was also a spoon.”

“I’ve never tried farfalle with peanut butter sauce, but there’s always a first for everything.”

“Somehow, I doubt your mother will agree.” She walked toward the house, and Nico joined her.

“She can be quite the character,” he said. “Sorry about that little game she played on us.”

“That was hilarious. Are you the cucumber, or am I?” The moment the words left her lips, Ginny realized their unintended inuendo. Her face blushed as hard as it had when Nico’s mother had nearly succeeded in getting them to kiss. He held open the back door for her, and she brushed past him as quickly possible, seeking the dimmer light in the hallway.

“It’s best not to dwell on anything she says or does when she’s in that particular mood,” Nico said. “She once got a priest to wear heels and a satin slip for an entire sermon under the pretense that he couldn’t preach about wifely duties unless he’d experienced some of them.”

Ginny headed toward the kitchen. “He might not have needed much persuading.”

Nico laughed. “The black pumps did bring out his calves.”

“How’s your mother holding up, energy-wise? This is a big outing for her.”

“It is, and I can tell she’s flagging. She said after lunch she’d need a nap.”

Ginny rounded the doorway to the kitchen, but it was empty. “Did you leave her in the kitchen?”

Instantly, Nico was at her side. “She was just here.” He dashed toward the front door, his voice registering panic. “You don’t think she went out front, do you?”

He started to go outside, but Ginny rested her hand on his shoulder. “Listen.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Ginny watched Nico’s worry-lined brow relax as he registered the sound of light snoring coming from somewhere in the house. They walked back toward the bedrooms and, sure enough, his mother was snuggled under Ginny’s quilt in her old bedroom.

Ginny and Nico stood side-by-side in the doorway like parents gazing in on their sleeping child.

“Sorry,” Nico whispered.

Ginny lowered her voice too. “I don’t mind. But should we wake her for lunch?”

---