What that meant, I didn’t know. Maybe it was a good thing. Perhaps the medication gave him the impetus to start talking, but it wasn’t what kept him talking.
Turning away, he closed his eyes, signaling an end to the conversation.
I let it go and just drove, happy we’d made as much progress as we did. I understood where he was coming from. I did. The man had been gutted by loss and he was scared, and fear like that didn’t answer to reason.
But understanding it didn’t make it hurt less that he wasn’t ready to jump into a relationship with both feet. It just meant I had to sit here and pretend I was okay with the idea that the man I was falling for might never be able to love me back.
Chapter 29
Toren
The crunch of gravel was my first warning that someone was coming up my driveway.
I lifted my head from working on the fishing net in my lap to stare at the trees.
The engine wasn’t loud, so I doubted it was Walker.
My heart flipped at the knowledge of who it could very well be.
Lana.
She’d been by a couple of times this week, ostensibly to check on me. Each time, we’d spent about half an hour chatting. No pressure. Just a friendly visit.
It was basically what I asked of her, but each time, the cordiality drove me crazy. I didn’t want her to beg me to kiss her or to get over myself. But at the same time, I did. I missed the firebrand I walked into the bush with. This affable, polite woman was going to send me to the loony bin.
Her car pulled into view. My heart did another flip as I caught sight of her through the windshield. She had her hair pulled back, highlighting her long, kissable neck.
Pulling up beside my truck, she parked and shut off the engine, getting out.
“Hi.” She waved, then opened the back doors, reaching inside to come up with two reusable grocery bags.
My gaze strayed to her jean-clad hips. I itched to run my hands over her curves—while they were naked and she was sitting on me again.
I bit back a groan. Why couldn’t she show up in oversize sweats or something?
“You don’t have to keep bringing me food,” I said as she climbed the porch stairs.
“Hello to you too.” She stopped in front of me, setting the bags at my feet. “And yes, I do. You’ve got one working hand. I’ve seen you try to chop an onion. It was tragic.”
“I wasn’t trying to chop it. I was?—”
“Mangling it. The frozen stuff I brought you last time worked out a lot better for you, didn’t it?” She raised an eyebrow, surety in her gaze.
Instead of answering, I leaned forward to peek in the bags she brought. There was no way I’d admit that, even if she was right.
“So, how’s the foot? And your hand?”
“Fine.” I picked up the bags and stood to take them inside. “It doesn’t hurt to walk today. But my hand itches like the devil.” From my fingertips, across my palm, and down the back of my hand to my wrist, I had an itch I couldn’t scratch, thanks to the cast. I’d resorted to holding the plaster and twisting my hand against it as much as I could. It was unfathomable that I had to wear the thing for another three weeks, at least.
I set the bags on the counter, and Lana pushed me aside to unload them. Eggs, bread, some frozen meals—she set it out, and I put it away.
Shutting the pantry door after putting the last can of soup away, I turned to see her folding the reusable bags.
“Thank you for bringing this stuff. I know I sound like a grumpy old codger, but I appreciate the thought.”
Her expression warmed, and she smiled. “You’re welcome.”
A squawk and a flurry of flapping wings erupted outside. We both turned to look through the kitchen window.
