Page 25 of A Furever Home
“Leg, this time.” He glanced away as if he hadn’t meant to reveal even that much.
“Ah.” I pushed the last of the chips toward him. “You need food in your stomach first. More than chips. Would you like some milk? Milk’s good when you’re taking anti-inflammatories, right?” I wasn’t going to tell him all those painkillers—the NSAIDs, as I’d learned to call them—were permanently off my permitted list.
“I’m going to pass on the milk.” He picked up another chip. “I don’t see the two mixing."
"Oh, you’d be surprised the foods I’ve combined.”
“Like tuna, melted cheese, and pickles?”
“You bet. I didn’t see you complaining. Oh, I love mustard and peanut butter.”
His eyes widened. “On a sandwich? That’s…” He wrinkled his nose in evident disgust.
“Want to know what else is super good? Dill pickles and peanut butter. You can dip them. Oh, tuna with olives and mayo?—”
“Okay, I think we need to have a discussion about your culinary habits. Are you sure you’re not pregnant or something?”
“Isn’t that pickles and ice cream? Honestly, I can’t speak to pregnancy cravings. I just like what I like. Do you need me to grab your pills?”
“I can?—”
“Sure, but I’m already up.” I popped out of the chair.
“They’re on the dresser. Chili might get upset.”
“She’ll be happy to see me.” At least I hoped she would be. When I got to Arthur’s room, she certainly tracked my movements as I grabbed the bottle of pills, but then set her chin back on the bed like I wasn’t a threat. Twain slept the sleep of the dead—which I desperately envied. He was a good warning system during the day, but apparently passed out cold at night.
Eb’s tail swished as I returned.
“You’re still not getting any.” I wagged my finger at him as I handed the pill bottle to Arthur. I snagged his mostly empty water glass and refilled it, set it in front of him, then plopped back in my chair and munched away happily while he downed his pills. “You know, you’re an easy guy to be around.”
He placed the pill bottle on the table. “I’m not certain how to take that.”
“As a compliment. I’ve been a bit isolated lately—although I aim to change that. Any interesting events coming up in Gaynor Beach that I might take advantage of?”
“There’s some stuff around Halloween. That’s just a few weeks away.” He rubbed his temple.
I snagged the empty chip bowl, pleased to see how many he’d eaten. I popped up and set it on the counter. Then I spun back, planning to clear the glasses.
Arthur was trying to grab his crutch.
I reached for it just as he ducked down.
Our heads collided.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” I pulled back, crouching before him so our gazes were level. His blue eyes were wide and startled, inches from my own. “Your brain’s already bruised, and I’m making it worse. I really should be more careful. It’s just that I wanted to help. You’re always trying to be independent, and there are so many little things I could do to make your life easier, but I don’t offer because you’re prickly—which is totally understandable, given the circumstances. And I think I’d be a little cranky too if?—”
He grabbed the back of my neck and crashed our lips together.
Well, that’s one way to shut me up.
CHAPTER 7
ARTHUR
I hadn’t meant to kiss Brooklyn. Totally not. No matter how many times I’d thought about it in the last few days. Until the moment our lips met, dry and soft, the salt and tang of vinegar chips between us, I didn’t realize what I was doing.
I let go instantly and lurched back. “Sorry! Wow, I didn’t mean—My bad. Do you want me to go? I should go.” I scrabbled for that damned crutch but Brooklyn went to one knee and leaned close, his eyes on mine.
