Page 142 of Capturing You
“Mm-hmm.” That was the best he could do, thanks to the affection and attraction rolling over him. He headed toward the kitchen.
“Put me down.”
“I will.” When he was finished drinking her in. Inhaling her scent. Enjoying the warmth of her.
He reached the foyer and angled through the formal dining room and into the kitchen, where he set her gently on the counter.
“I could’ve made it,” she said.
He stepped back and crossed his arms. “You’re very stubborn.”
But she was also wonderful. Amazing. Perfect.
“I’m sorry, Brooklynn.”
Her eyebrows hiked.
“For lying to you. I know I said it. I’ve said it a few times, but I’m not sure you’ve accepted my apology. It didn’t feel like lying at first. I’ve gone by Ford Baker and told the story about being a historian for so long it feels real to me sometimes. But there came a point with you when it wasn’t okay anymore. I wanted to tell you. I almost did, on the roof, but I’d made Grandmother a promise. I needed to introduce you to her, get her…blessing, I guess.”
“Did she give it?”
“She did. She likes you.”
“I’m glad.” But Brooklynn didn’t smile. “I understand why you did it.”
“But can you forgive me?”
“I can. I do. Just…no more lying, okay?”
He nodded, swallowing all the things he wanted to say, unsure how to say them, not knowing if he should, if he had any right to.
So he turned his attention to her injury, lifting her injured leg to the counter. “Nice shoes.” They were multicolored slip-on sneakers.
“I thought they looked old-lady-ish.”
He slipped the one from her injured leg, feeling her calf tighten beneath his hand. He moved to take off her sock, needing to get a look at her injury and make sure nothing was obviously broken, but before he’d even touched it, she sucked a breath through her teeth.
“I can cut it off.”
“No, no. It’s fine.” But her face was white as milk.
“It’s not a problem. Just?—”
“I said it’s fine!” Her eyes popped wide. “Sorry. Sorry. You’re trying to help, and I’m?—”
“In pain. No need to apologize.” He turned toward the wall behind him. Mostly cabinets, but… “You see that dent on the refrigerator?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Focus on it. Don’t take your eyes off it.” He leaned over her knees so she couldn’t watch what he was doing. “Can you still see it?”
“Yes.”
He ran his hands gently down her calf. “I put that dent there when I was about six. Me and my thick skull.”
“Ouch.” But the way she said it, she didn’t mean her ankle.
“It’s okay. Unlike the fridge, I wasn’t permanently damaged.” His hands were at the top of her socks.
