CHAPTER FOUR
Sophie woke in her own bed. The previous night’s encounter seemed like a dream. Only the indentation on the pillow next to her told her that Luke had been there. From the heavenly cinnamon scent floating up the stairs and the banging in the kitchen, she knew he must still be there.
She crawled from the bed and gingerly tested her ankle. It throbbed when she tried standing on it, so she kept it in the air. After running a comb through her hair, she gimped her way to Jamison’s room and found the crib empty.
Luke sang “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” while Jamison beat on his high chair tray with a plastic spoon.
“What’s this?” Sophie asked.
Luke whirled around at the sound of her voice and Jamison gurgled and waved his spoon at her.
“This is breakfast,” Luke told her.
Sophie’s breakfast usually consisted of Raisin Bran and half a banana, so she was curious to see what breakfast meant to Luke.
He pulled a casserole dish out of the oven. “This is baked oatmeal.”
“You can bake oatmeal?” She smiled at his apron that looked like a giant red lobster.
He gave her a puzzled look. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had an oatmeal cookie.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Is this a cookie? We’re having cookies for breakfast?”
“Sounds like a great idea, but I think you’ll like this better.” He waved the knife in his hand at a chair. “Sit. I had planned on bringing this to you, but since you’re here…sit. It’ll be just a moment.”
He turned his back to her and resumed chopping a green apple, a handful of nuts, and a few dried cranberries. Then he scooped out a portion of the oatmeal into a bowl, sprinkled it with the apple mixture, and gave it a splash of milk before setting it down in front of her. “Eat.”
“Are you going to eat, too?” She poised her spoon above the bowl.
“Of course,” he said, taking a chair beside her and removing his apron.
“You’ve changed your clothes.”
“I’m guessing they’re Matt’s,” he told her. “I found them in the closet in Jamie’s room.”
She ducked her head. “I haven’t gotten around to cleaning everything out.”
“Well, it worked out.”
She lifted a spoonful of the oatmeal concoction to her mouth. “Mmm, heaven,” she murmured.
Luke ladled up his own serving. “What do you have planned for today?”
“Santa is coming to story hour at the library,” she told him. “I was going to go with Liz, but now… It’s not much fun when your main mode of transportation is hobbling.”
“Well, why don’t you stay here and catch up on your reading while I take Jamie to story hour?”
“But…don’t you have things to do? What about your barn?”
“I’m waiting for the tile I ordered to arrive. Jamie and I can stop by the hardware store on our way to the library.”
#
The farmhouse seemed cold and lonely without Jamison and Luke, even though Luke had lit a fire in the fireplace before he left. Sophie snuggled into her chair and picked up her book. But she didn’t read. She was tired of living vicariously—reading about other people’s lives, other women’s romances. She tossed the book across the room, and decided she wanted a romance of her own.
Just then, Aidan’s truck turned down the driveway. Everything told her that Aidan was the perfect choice for her. He was smart, funny, and reliable.
So why did she keep thinking about how good it had felt to be curled up next to Luke? How could she envision spending every morning sitting across from him at the breakfast table? It should take more than a great bowl of oatmeal to win her heart.
It was a really spectacular bowl of oatmeal, a voice in the back of her head whispered. But Luke was just like his brother, wild, impetuous, and irresponsible. Even if he decided to stay put in Shell Beach —how long would it take until he was bored and restless? Hadn’t his disappearance after the funeral taught her anything?
Aidan, she decided, was perfect for her. She hobbled to the mirror in the entryway to make sure she looked like she was the perfect choice for him. Earlier, she’d managed to take a bath, put on makeup, and slip into her favorite jeans and sweater. She thought back to her earlier decision to make Aidan kiss her and decided that now was as good a time as any to test her pheromones.
But would it be fair to Aidan to try to kiss him if her pheromones were crying out for Luke? I’m stronger than my pheromones, she reminded herself, and plastered on a phony smile before she opened the door.
With a pair of crutches tucked under his arm, Aidan strode across the lawn while Atticus bounded beside him. What would it be like to have him coming home to her every night?
“Hey,” he said, grinning at her. “You’re up. I half expected to find you lounging by the fire. But I should have known better. You’re not a lounger.”
Why did that bother her? Why did his saying she wasn’t a lounger make her want to run and start lollygagging on the closest available La-Z-Boy? She shook herself and amped up her smile.
“I brought you a gift,” he said, showing her the crutches.
“Thanks! They’re exactly what I never wanted.” She led him into the living room.
Atticus jumped onto the sofa and wagged his tail.
Aidan held the crutches up in front of her. “We’ll need to adjust these. My brother last used them when he tore his ACL.”
“ACL? That sounds like an activist group.”
“An anterior cruciate ligament injury occurs when the biomechanical limits of the ligament are exceeded, and is most commonly a non-contact injury involving a sudden stop or twisting movement, such as a dismount from a layup in basketball.” He touched the side of her leg. “It’s right here.”
Why weren’t there tingles? Why did she spark like faulty wiring when Luke touched her, but not Aidan?
“Here,” he said after he fiddled with the screws on one of the crutches. “Try this on for size.”
She slipped the crutch beneath her arm. “Seems okay,” she said.
He frowned at her. “No, it should be snugger. You don’t want to lean too far forward like that. It’s not good for your alignment.”
“My alignment?”
He nodded. “The spinal column runs down the middle of your back and contains the spinal cord, which is like a superhighway of nerves that connect your brain to every tissue in your body. Needless to say, the health of your spine is of paramount importance. You don’t want to throw off your alignment.”
She sighed and her smile dimmed. “Right. I need to stay aligned.”
He nodded as if she’d said something incredibly profound and worked on the crutch. She eased on to the sofa and propped her foot up beside Atticus. The puppy wiggled onto her lap.
“How are you going to try these out if you’re sitting down?” Aidan asked.
“Right,” she repeated, and climbed back to her feet…or foot, and leaned onto the crutches. “How’s that?” she asked.
Aidan frowned. “I could ask Clyne at the hardware store if he could drill another hole in them…”
“No. Don’t be silly. My alignment can be out of whack for a few days.”
“Maintaining good posture is probably the most important thing you can do for the health of your spine.”
“At the moment, I’m not worried about my spine! I just want my ankle to get better.”
“I understand that, but I think you’re being way too casual about your health.” He pressed his lips together. “Just look at how you’re sitting.”
“What’s wrong with how I’m sitting? Oh never mind.” The last thing she wanted was a lecture on the proper way to sit on a sofa. She pulled herself to her feet and put her arms around Aidan. He felt stiff, skinny, and cold. She leaned against him, hoping he’d relax or…something.
He patted her back.
She drew away. “Thanks for bringing the crutches and taking care of Atticus. Really, you’re very sweet.”
“Am I interrupting?” Luke stood in the kitchen doorway with a sleeping Jamison in his arms.
“Aidan brought me some crutches,” Sophie said.
“I can see that.” Luke narrowed his eyes at Aidan.
A thick and awkward silence filled the room.
“Well, thanks, Aidan,” Sophie finally said.
“I guess I better get back to work,” Aidan said. He glanced at his watch. “I have a dog who needs his teeth pulled.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean for himself,” Sophie said as soon as Aidan left.
“How can you be sure?” Luke asked with twitching lips before he turned and climbed the stairs that led to Jamison’s room. He returned moments later. “I picked up some lunch at Bill’s Barbeque. Would you like some?”
She nodded.
“Let me help you up,” he said, grabbing her elbows and pulling her to a standing position.
She inhaled a deep breath as her nerves did their jittery thing. Pheromones, she told herself. To further the experiment, she leaned into him. He felt warm and solid and smelled of leather and something else she couldn’t identify.
“You okay?” he asked, rubbing his hands up and down her arms and sending her pulse racing.
“Yes,” she said, but she thought, no, I’m in trouble.