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“Ahh, yeah, that’s easier said than done.” My hands twist together in my lap.
Dean’s brow furrows as he leans down to place his forearms on the open window. “Why?” It’s an innocent question. Curious, that’s all. And it’s a question I’ve had to answer in many different situations time and time again. Still, it sucks. Because I know as soon as I answer, there’s a very good chance he’ll look at me differently.
“Because I need to get my wheelchair out, and that takes quite a bit of space.” I gesture to the road beside me, and with perfect timing a giant semitruck goes roaring past. “This isn’t the safest location for that.” I keep my gaze steady on him, waiting for that moment where his perspective of me changes. To my surprise, it doesn’t happen. He stands up straight, walks around to my door, opens it, and crouches down.
“Okay, would you feel comfortable with me setting up your wheelchair over on the side and then lifting you into it? Or I can carry you to my truck to wait while I deal with the tire. Whichever is best for you.”
He says it so calmly, as if it’s no big deal to him, an everyday occurrence, needing to deal with the girl with the wheelchair. It’s…refreshing.
“That would be great,” I say in a rush. “Waiting in your truck, I mean. That way you don’t have to worry about my chair.”
Dean shrugs, raising those muscular shoulders and lifting the corner of his mouth slightly. “I don’t mind. Whatever you prefer, Riley.”
Good grief, this giant man is making me feel all kinds of strange things. I’ve tried to date since my accident, but it’s never gone well. Most men can’t see past the chair, at least not enough to get close. Dean’s clear acceptance of my disability and willingness to work with me, even in this bizarre circumstance, means a lot.
He stands up, then bends down. But before his hands even touch me, Dean pauses. “I’m going to lift you into a cradle position, okay?”
All I can do is nod. Then his large hands are sliding carefully under my legs and around my back, and I’m lifted from my car as if I weigh nothing. The trip to his truck is over too soon and a silly part of me wishes I had a reason to stay in his arms longer.
I watch out the front window as he competently jacks up my car, switches the flat tire out for the new one, and gets it all back together faster than I thought possible. I’m almost disappointed I won’t get to watch him longer. Then he walks back over to the passenger side of his truck and opens the door with a sweeping bow.
“Your chariot awaits, madam.”
I can’t hold back a giggle. “Thank you, good sir.”
His eyes take on a gleam when I laugh, and I feel an answering flush cover my cheeks. Then I’m back in his arms and we’re walking to my car. The air is getting cool out now that evening is falling, and I’m suddenly so thankful it isn’t raining. Early fall on the West Coast can be a mixed bag when it comes to weather, and I would have felt so guilty if Dean had to work in the rain.
Dean lowers me into my seat with such gentle strength and care. It’s been a long time since anyone helped me that way. The respect, consideration for my comfort, and absolute acceptance of my disability is something I rarely experience outside of my family and close friends.
“Thanks again,” I say softly once I’m settled in my car. Dean stays crouched down beside me as if the cars on the road beside us are not a concern at all. His deep blue eyes are focused on me, and the intensity of that gaze has me biting my lip.
“It was my pleasure, Riley.” He stands up and drops his hand on the roof of my car. “I hope I see you again sometime.” He taps the roof, then turns and walks back to his truck, and I finally let out a deep whoosh of breath.
“I hope I seeyouagain, too.”
CHAPTER2
Dean
When Mila called to ask if I could go and help her friend who was stranded on the highway with a flat tire, it was a no-brainer. I needed the break from staring at paperwork for hours on end, and any friend of Mila Monroe’s is a friend of mine. Or at least someone I want to help.
I wasnotprepared for the beautiful woman I found.
Or for the hesitation in her eyes when we both realized she’d need my hands-on help, literally, to get out of her car. I can’t imagine having to give that kind of trust to a total stranger, and it’s not lost on me what a significant thing that must be for her.
But that’s not why turning my truck around and driving away from Riley is a lot harder than it should be. I drive slowly and keep checking my rearview mirror, only relaxing once I see her car pull out onto the road, headed in the opposite direction from me.
The entire way back to Dogwood Cove, I’m occupied with thoughts of her. Her curly hair cascading down her back in a dark, riotous mess, framing big brown eyes any man could easily get lost in for hours. She’s gorgeous. I’ve never been a romantic kind of guy. Love at first sight seemed like one hell of a cheesy marketing tactic for Hallmark movies.
But even so, I can’t deny that something inside of me woke up and took notice the second I saw her sitting in her car. And the protective rumbling in my chest at the thought of anyone taking advantage of her mobility situation has me seeing red.
Thank fuck Mila called me.
Pulling up to the small house I own on the outskirts of Dogwood Cove, I cut the engine and sit in silence for a second before pulling out my phone and dialing Mila’s number.
“Dean? I owe you a coffee and a muffin next time you come in, buddy.”
That causes me to crack a smile. Nobody makes better muffins than Mila.
