Page 68 of Someone to Watch Over Me

“Anyone would be. I wonder if it was really him in spirit form or if it was a dream.”

“It seemed different from a dream. I’m not sure how to describe it, but it wasn’t like a dream.”

“Will you tell your sisters?”

“I’m afraid it’ll freak them out to know how close I came to joining him.”

A huge lump settles in my throat as I realize the same thing he’s trying to protect his sisters from. “Thank goodness he sent you back,” I say when I’m able to speak again.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“No, I’m fine, and I’m glad you told me.”

“When I’m not thinking about you and wondering when I’ll get to kiss you again, that’s all I’ve thought about since it happened.”

My entire body goes warm at the thought of kissing him again, and I wonder if he can see it in my face. I feel like I’m awakening from a long slumber. I’m tingling in places that’ve been asleep for years.

Fortunately, we arrive at his mother’s care home, and the cool fresh air helps to settle me.

As we walk inside together, his hand lands on my lower back. “I’m sorry if the flirting unsettles you. I can’t seem to help it.”

“It doesn’t unsettle me.”

“Are you sure?”

I force myself to look at his handsome face. “I’m sure.”

He stops short of the main door and turns to face me. “Then what is it?”

“I’m feeling… things… that I haven’t in a long time, and whenever that happens, it comes as a bit of a surprise to me because I’d forgotten what it was like.”

“What kind of things?”

I say the only word that comes to mind to adequately describe it. “Desire.”

He takes a step toward me. “Lexi.”

“Later.”

“No, right now.”

“Tom…”

His deep sigh says it all. “To be continued.”

14

Lexi

The smell of the place reminds me of a rehab Jim was in for a time while we were still trying to figure out what was wrong with him. From the start, he feared ALS, but one doctor after another told him not to jump to conclusions until they knew for certain.

He was sure of it a long time before they finally confirmed it.

Tom checks in at the reception desk and gets guest passes for us. As we walk toward his mother’s room at the end of a long hallway, he casually reaches for my hand, as if that’s something we do every day. Maybe it will be.

“Remember that she won’t know me. It can be upsetting, even for people who don’t know her.”

“I understand.” At least, I think I do. Thankfully, I don’t have much experience with dementia.

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