Page 27 of If This is Love

Good morning, Gabe. That would be so helpful and kind of you. :) We’re both up, so feel free to come by whenever is most convenient for you. :) And feel free to use the key when you get here. :)

I sent the message, stared at it, and then overanalyzed my use of emojis for about thirty seconds before setting down the phone and grabbing the crutches. Two days of this had made the crutches pretty easy to use but all the more annoying. I’d never take for granted having two good feet again.

Jax looked up at me from his bed and thumped his tail. He stood up and sniffed the crutches like he did every time I stood with them, like he wasn’t sure if he trusted them yet.

“Good morning, handsome.” I smiled at him and then pressed my eyes shut while I deeply inhaled and exhaled. “Bless the lord, it’s another beautiful day.”

The words were packed with nervous excitement this morning because I was getting another visitor—this was technically three days in a row that I’d gotten a visitor in my new home—and of course because it was the same visitor. I crutched my way across the room to grab a bra, propping the crutches against the wall while I pulled off my tank top, strapped on the bra, and put the tank top back on.

I wonder if he’ll touch my calf again.

The mind-spinning ache resurfaced with a vengeance between my thighs, and my arms flew out sideways to steady my balance. I glowered at my reflection in the mirror above the dresser andtsked.

“Get it together, Ruth.” I picked up a hair elastic off the dresser and slowly, methodically smoothed my hair into a high puff on top of my head. “Where’s your self-respect?”

For good measure and modesty, I grabbed a long, black cardigan to wrap around myself and then tested my ankle by putting a little weight on it. It still had a deep twinge of pain, but it was feeling a little better today. It felt like I probably could gingerly walk on it, but I decided it was better to not push myself.

Jax patiently followed me as I slowly crutched down the hall and to the kitchen. I had to set down the crutches to fill Jax’s food bowl and then opted to limp to the coffee machine to start it. Leaning against the counter next to it, I stared out one of the kitchen windows at the world still bathed in the deep, luminescent blue of dawn. The stillness of early morning held me in a foggy trance for a few minutes until the sound of a firm series of knocks on my front door shook me out of my mind.

“Ruth? It’s Gabe. You around?”

“Oh.” I blinked rapidly, and my hands went reflexively to tug the cardigan tighter around me. “Yes, hi, Gabe. I’m in the kitchen. I made some coffee if you’d like a cup.”

“Sure.”

His heavy footsteps thudded into the house and toward the kitchen, and his mere presence in my house had me all hot under the collar again. I distracted myself by grabbing two mugs out of the cabinet and filling them.

“Do you take it black or with a little sugar maybe?”

Why did my question sound so…sexual?

Did he think it sounded sexual?

“Just black is fine, thanks,” Gabe answered plainly.

“Sure thing.” My cheeks warmed with embarrassment as I lifted one steaming mug and turned to hand it to him. Sheepishness kept me from meeting his eyes, and unfortunately, my eyes went straight for the crotch of his gray sweatpants—which leftvery littleto the imagination.

I was now staring at the bulging outline of his little man downstairs, and it was not the least bitlittle,and my mind went all sorts of places it had no business going.

The coffee mug slipped right out of my hand and hit the floor with an explosive, splashing shatter of ceramic pieces and about twelve ounces of scalding liquid.

I gasped. Jax scampered across the tile and out of the kitchen. Gunner was barking ferociously, pawing at Gabe’s thigh, and Gabe was just standing there, staring at the space in front of his eyes.

“Oh my heavens, I’mso sorry, Gabe…” I started to say, trailing off because my voice was no match for Gunner. He was still barking and pawing at Gabe like there was an invisible, evil thing right there in the kitchen with us, ready to pounce on him.

And Gabe was still just staring blankly in front of him.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. Gunner was a service dog. And whatever was happening in Gabe’s mind right then was the evil thing Gunner was trying to save him from.

“Oh no,” I whispered to myself. I had no idea what to do. I couldn’t do much with a bum foot and a mess of coffee and broken ceramic separating us. But I could reach his hand, and that was something.

I folded my hand around his, rubbing my thumb across his skin. “Hey, Gabe,” I said gently, but loudly enough to be heard above Gunner. “Can you hear me, friend?”

I continued to rub my thumb across my hand, and Gunner kept barking, and for about ten or fifteen seconds, Gabe just stared.

Until he blinked.

Along with the blink, he drew in a breath so deep it caused his shoulders and chest to rise and expand dramatically. His silvery eyes skated and drifted aimlessly for a moment, and then they zeroed in on mine.

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