Let me tell you something about my father. I’ve got the coolest dad in the world. Whatever the problem was, he’d always gotten me out of trouble. Even when we didn’t see eye to eye, he supported me and proceeded to meddle in my affairs because he meant well.

He always showed at least some understanding…right after giving me an earful of whatever he had to say.

I sense this is one of those times.

His cheeks are flushed red with anger, his gaze is stony, which is kind of frightening. I mean, the guy’s a cop and carries a gun. His fists are clenching and unclenching. His whole body’s tense, but his tone is surprisingly calm as he speaks. “You are screwing your physical therapist.”

I know better than to trust that tone of his when his posture says it all.

He’s about to bite my head off.

My dad’s just lost the cool dad of the year award.

This is going to be fun.

“I…”

He cuts me off “Cash.” That tone of his is supposed to make me feel like I’m still a teen. He must have missed the fact that I’m twenty-eight years old. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Relax, Dad. Nothing happened.” I grin, which is sort of belying my assurance. But hell, I can’t help myself. Winding him up is even better than winding up Erin.

They both have that short fuse thing going for them, but Dad can take it to a whole new level.

“You expect me to believe you?” He cocks his head to the side, regarding me with an air of incredulity. “I saw the glance you two exchanged.”

I meet his gaze with a cold stare. “What glance?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, boy.”

“You don’t think it was because you kind of barged in without so much as knocking and you kind of startled us?” I sigh. “But if you must know our private business, Erin and I kissed.”

He shoots me a look of disapproval…and then more incredulity. “I’m not screwing her,” I say slowly.

Yet.

“I’m disappointed in you.” His eyes bore into me. “I leave you alone for what? A few weeks? And what happens? It’s bad enough you risk your life for nothing and screw women over at every corner. But does it need to happen in your home? With her? Goddammit, Cash.” He gives me another deadly stare. “You better get your shit together. I pray for you that she doesn’t sue! Because if she does, I promise you won’t hear the end of it.” He heads back inside, leaving me staring after him, my hands clutching at my crutches, as I mull over his words.

Not two minutes later, Dad returns, followed by Erin.

“I need to get a few things from town,” Erin whispers as she rushes past me.

“Keep it in your pants,” Dad mumbles and heads for his cruiser, slamming the door.

From where I’m standing I can see Erin peering at me as she heads for the car. I give her a small nod; my lips pressed together. My father gives me another deadly stare before he starts the engine, and they speed off.

For a good few minutes, I stand in the driveway, staring into the empty space.

I’m a businessman, for crying out loud. Making out with the employees is never a good idea. It can go wrong on too many levels.

I know that.

Dad’s right to warn me against it. I would never get sexually involved with a female employee.

Only, with Erin it feels different. Natural. Not like a fling, but like something that could take root, meaning I’ll have to start treating it like I want it to grow.

---

***

---

It’s late evening when Erin returns. Dad accompanies her to the door, but doesn’t come in. I don’t head out to greet him, either.

He’s still angry with me.

Big deal. I’m angry with him, too.

Knowing my father, I know this one will blow over eventually, but he’ll probably watch me like a hawk now. Once a friend cheated him of fifty bucks, and Dad ended up holding a grudge for twenty years and counting.

I bet he only took Erin shopping because he wanted to talk to her. I can only hope he hasn’t given her an ear full of his opinions in the process.

But just to make sure he hasn’t put her off me for good, I’ve cooked us dinner.

A table for two is set in the dining room, and I’ve also lit candles on every surface, which gives the place a romantic touch. I’ve even persuaded Margaret to bake us an apple pie.

The house smells of barbecue, salad, and sweet crumbles.

“What’s this?” Erin asks with a frown.

My gaze takes her in, appreciating what it sees. “Take a guess? Want to take a shower before dinner?”

She nods warily as she peers from me to the candles.

“Just make it quick,” I instruct and leave for the kitchen.

She returns barely ten minutes later, her skin still damp, her sleeveless top molding to her body.

For a moment, we’re both quiet, eyeing each other, unsure what to expect.

“Take a seat.” I point needlessly at the table. She does as I bid and raises her hand to touch the flower bouquet.

“This looks nice. Are you expecting guests?”

“Just you.”

Her lips twitch, but there’s a glint of pleasure in her eyes. “Shouldn’t you have asked me first?”

“I thought it better to skip that part. I couldn’t risk you rejecting me.” I wink. “Why? Do you have another annoying patient you have to run off to?”

Her smile widens, her beauty striking.

I point to the lavender bouquet. “They are for you. I wish I could have handpicked them myself, but as you can see—” I point at my crutches and smirk.

“Those are my favorite flowers.”

“I know. Margaret told me,” I say softly. “I wish I could have picked them for you. On the bright side, though, I cooked.”

She peers at me, surprised. “You cooked?”

“Just for you.” I smile. “You bake. I cook. We’re both not half bad. I guess that’s a great combination.”

Erin falls silent for a moment as she leans forward to smell the lavender, her thoughts far away.

As if a fragment of her past has captured her.

I wish I knew what she was thinking.

“Erin?” I prompt.

She peers up at me, her eyes glazed over. That’s when I notice the small bruise hidden beneath her hairline.

“You went to the hospital.” She nods in response to my statement. “Did you need stitches?”

“Luckily, no.” At my questioning glance, she continues. “And there’s no swelling.”

“I wish I could have driven you,” I say grimly. “I wish I could do a lot of things.”

I don’t mean to sound like I’m pitying myself because I’m not. But strangely, I want to be able to do normal things for her.

“You will some day.”

Our eyes connect over the table and something heavy passes between us. “You still believe in me?” I ask.

“Of course,” Erin says softly. “I know it sounds impossible right now, but you will walk, eventually.” Her fingers clasp around my hand, squeezing it. “Did you mean what you said earlier? About starting therapy?” Her voice is still soft, but there is an edge to it.

As though she’s doubting me.

“It depends. Will you forgive me and have dinner with me tonight?”

She smiles. The flickering candles catch in her blue eyes, making them shimmer like sapphires. “There’s nothing to forgive you for, Cash. Words are often spoken in haste. You don’t mean them when you’re hurting. They may sting like hell, but then you forget about them. Thankfully, actions speak louder. This—” she points at the table “—is nice. I choose to believe you when you say you want my help. Coming from the guy who would have kicked me out of his house if he could, I guess this is a nice gesture.”

“I didn’t cook because I felt bad,” I say, watching her reaction as I decide to be upfront with her. “I want to make a fresh start with you. You didn’t deserve the hard time I gave you.” I raise my glass. “Here’s to you. Thank you for sticking around when you could have given up on me.”

---

***

---

My dinner with Erin couldn’t have gone any better. We talked about Josh, the weather, Chicago. I asked her what her favorite color was (Alizarin crimson—I had to Google it to find out it’s a version of pink), her favorite food (fried chicken), and all the places she’s traveled. Her job’s taken her to a few places, but as it turned out she’s never been abroad. We talked about her plans, her dreams.

We stayed away from topics involving the past and relationships, mostly because she seemed keen on evading them. I would have wanted her to open up to me, but she remained cagey.

The thing is, when I looked into her background, I also stumbled across the police report.

I know why she can be as hard as a nail. Asking her about it isn’t an option, though. Not until she trusts me enough to tell me about it.

Until then, I’ll keep her little secret like it was my own.