Page 54 of Objection to Love

“My, you sound like my Gary and me.”

Mrs. Clarke had returned and was laughing openly at the two of them.

“September doesn’t want to sit on your couches. I don’t think she likes them very much, Mom,” Garrett deadpanned, and Em’s face blanched.

“Oh, be quiet, Garrett. You are being rude to your friend.”

Em may have imagined it, but she thought Mrs. Clarke put excess emphasis on “friend.”

“You are very sweet to worry about my couches, but the slipcovers are washable. Even still, I can grab an old towel if that would help you feel better?”

“I just don’t want to ruin them.” Em didn’t want to ask the woman to get her anything else, but also really didn’t want to put herself—in her current state—anywhere near those couches.

“Don’t worry, I’ll grab a towel.” And Mrs. Clarke ducked from the room again.

They were silent in her absence, and for the first time, Em noticed the intimacy of their situation. She cleared her throat, trying to ignore the heat blossoming from the half of her body pressed up against his abs. His eight-pack, her mind kindly chose that moment to remind her.

He turned his head to her, his face only a few inches away. She expected some sort of joke, but instead, his eyes just caught hers.

She’d never been great at staring contests. Just the thought of them made her eyes water. But something in the back of Garrett’s gaze made her want to remove blinking from her brain’s hardwired capabilities.

And then his lips lifted into half a smile. That smile sent a million little zaps of attraction through every one of her limbs.

Mrs. Clarke returned not a moment too soon, laid the towel out on the couch, then gestured for Garrett to put Em down. Garrett hesitated half a second, glancing down at her with an unreadable expression, then abruptly walked to the couch.

Once Em was sitting comfortably—as comfortably as she could—Mrs. Clarke helped her remove her sneaker and place her foot on the ottoman.

“So, how did this happen?” she asked as she gently probed Em’s ankle.

Em glanced at Garrett, then back to Mrs. Clarke. “We were hiking, and I stepped on a rock wrong. I heard a pop then couldn’t walk on it anymore.”

Mrs. Clarke made a sound of contemplation. “Does this hurt?” She gently pushed on the top of her ankle with her thumbs.

“A little. Not bad though.”

“And here?” She felt around the soft part of her ankle with her fingers.

Em winced. “Yes.”

Slowly, Mrs. Clarke flexed Em’s foot, then straightened it. She sat back on her heels.

“I don’t think it’s broken, hun, but I do think you have a pretty bad sprain. You’ll need to stay off it for at least two days, then not do anything strenuous for a few weeks. Let me get you some ice for now.” She stood up, giving Garrett a significant look as she did. “Can I talk to you for a second? In the kitchen?”

Garrett didn’t seem surprised. “Sure.”

They both filed out of the room, leaving Em alone with her thoughts.

It wasn’t broken—which was great. But how was she supposed to stay off it when she needed to be back to work on Monday? She had a fair amount of vacation days but couldn’t take themnow. Not with the Clayton trial coming up.

Garrett came back carrying a pile of folded clothes and a glass of water. “Mom has informed me that we are staying for dinner. And she wanted to lend you some of her clothes—”

“That’s nice of her,” Em said, reaching out for his bundle.

Garrett handed them to her. “Well, yes, but then we both realized she was so short, none of her things would fit you. So I grabbed you one of my old t-shirts and sweats. You’ll be swimming in them, but my mom says she’ll wash your clothes while we eat.”

Em froze, holdingGarrett’sclothes. “Oh. Well… thank you.”

His mouth lifted. “No problem. And here’s some painkillers.” He gave her the glass and a couple small pills.

---