“What do you think?” Dax turned in Brooklyn’s direction, waiting for her to pass judgment on the sunglasses perched on his nose. They’d already stopped at the cell phone store so Brooklyn could select, purchase, and activate her new phone.

When Brooklyn remained silent, Dax touched her arm. “Well?” he prompted.

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

From the tone of her voice, he imagined she was wrinkling her nose. “You don’t like these? They’re really comfortable.” It was kind of funny. In the old days, he would’ve picked the look of the sunglasses over the feel. But now that he couldn’t see, the appearance of his glasses was way down on the totem pole. Before losing his vision, he’d assumed blind people only saw darkness, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. His eyes were sensitive to light. And, wearing the glasses made him feel more protected, like he fit into society a little better. He’d asked his mother to describe what his eyes looked like. Many blind people had filmy or strange, sci-fi looking eyes, but his were more normal in color and appearance. His mother described them as looking through her, rather than at her. Dax touched the frame of the glasses. “I think these are awesome!”

“You would,” Brooklyn countered incredulously.

Dax bit back a smile. Brooklyn was just as much fun to razz now as she was when they were teenagers. He turned in the direction of the nearby sales clerk and said loudly. “How do you like these sunglasses?”

Awkward pause. “Um … yeah, I guess they’re okay,” the girl said timidly.

The girl sounded young, like she couldn’t be a day over sixteen. And it was obvious from the tone in her voice that the glasses looked terrible. A large smile split Dax’s face. “See, she likes them.” He patted Tucker on the head. “What do you think, boy? You like my sunglasses?”

Tucker lifted his head in reaction to Dax’s touch.

“Well, there you go,” Dax drawled. “The sales clerk likes them, and Tucker likes them. You seem to be outnumbered.”

“Yeah, they’re great,” Brooklyn quipped, “If you’re Arnold Schwarzenegger in The Terminator.”

The sales girl giggled.

“I’ll—be—back,” Dax said, in a mechanical voice.

“Ha ha. Funny,” Brooklyn said, shoving him lightly, but there was a hint of laughter in her voice.

Dax removed the glasses. “All right. You win. Which ones do you suggest?”

“Hmm … how about these?” Brooklyn placed a pair in his hands. “Nope, not those,” she said the minute he got them on. “Try these.” She handed him another pair.

He put them on. “Well?”

“I like them. What do you think?”

Dax almost answered, then realized the question had been directed at the sales clerk. Sometimes it was hard for him to tell when someone was talking to him.

“He kind of looks like someone, but I can’t figure out who,” the girl said.

“Tom Cruise,” Brooklyn supplied matter-of-factly.

The girl clapped her hands together. “Of course.” Excitement coated her voice. “It’s uncanny how much you look like him. But taller. I should take a picture and tell everyone Tom Cruise came into the store today.”

Dax groaned. “Oh, no. Not the Tom Cruise thing again. I thought that died with racing.”

Brooklyn laughed. “Nope. Not hardly. Look at the bright side, if you have to look like someone, at least he’s good-looking.”

The compliment spread over him like sunshine on a warm afternoon as he smiled. “So, you think I’m good-looking?” He leaned in close to Brooklyn and could almost feel the heat radiating off her cheeks. She probably looked adorable when she blushed.

“Um … I didn’t necessarily mean …”

He thrust out a pouty lower lip. “Now you’re just hurting my feelings.”

“Oh,” she blustered, “I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t hold back the laughter that rushed out of him.

“You’re teasing me.” She shoved him. “You’re so mean.”

“Sorry,” he said contritely, resting a hand on her arm. As casually as he could, he leaned in close enough to get a whiff of her strawberry shampoo. Being with Brooklyn made him feel more alive than he’d felt in a long time. Earlier, when he touched her face, his senses sharpened as fierce attraction zipped through him. He could only hope Brooklyn’s intake of breath was an indication she was feeling something too. What he’d told Brooklyn was true. He could construct a mental image of someone through touch. But more than anything, he used it as an excuse to be close to her, feel her features … know who she was. Dax added the details to his mental image of Brooklyn. Her complexion was smooth, not a single blemish. He imagined it was milky white like Porcelain. He remembered her freckles, which she said were now lighter than in high school. Back then, they’d been so dang cute. Her hair was soft and silky to the touch, and he pictured it dancing like playful water down her back. She was tall and willowy. Her pants swooshed lightly as she walked. He was aching to know if her waist tapered in like he imagined, giving way to the graceful curve of her hips. He figured her legs were long and shapely. He had to laugh at himself. Maybe his imagination was getting a little out of control. After all, he had to depend on it so frequently to comprehend the world. Of course, he couldn’t know the shape of Brooklyn’s figure without touching her, and there was no way that was on today’s agenda.

After Dax purchased the sunglasses and put them on, they stepped out onto the sidewalk. He turned toward Brooklyn. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, actually I am. Do you want to go back into City Creek and get something there?”

He gave her his best puzzled expression. “But I thought we were in City Creek. Is this not the food court?” It was hard to keep his expression neutral because he could sense that Brooklyn was flustered.

“Um … no … actually we’re now outside of City Creek. Here, let me help you turn around and go—” She stopped short when he cracked up, laughing. She growled. “You,” she said, playfully shoving him.

A smile touched his lips. “I’ll take you to one of my favorite places.”

“Oh? Where is that?”

“You’ll see,” he said cryptically. He tightened his hold on Tucker’s leash and issued a command. “Forward.” Tucker immediately obeyed, pulling him along steadily. Dax’s step felt almost as light as his heart. With Tucker on his left and Brooklyn on his right, he felt like a man with purpose, and the promise of a bright future, rather than the broken man he’d been following the accident. They walked a few more paces when suddenly Tucker stopped. Dax immediately halted. Then he heard the familiar chirping from the sound box, signaling they’d reached a crosswalk.

Brooklyn caught hold of his arm. “Would you like for me to help you cross the street?”

“No thanks,” he said casually. “I’ve got it.”

“Are you sure? I’m happy to help.”

Dax felt the familiar pinprick of irritation, but couldn’t slight Brooklyn for not understanding how capable he now was without his sight. Squelching his defensiveness, he cocked his ears, listening. The chirping sound was lower pitched, meaning don’t walk. When it became high-pitched, he knew it was safe to go. Still, he listened for the sounds of the cars, depending on that most of all. “Forward,” he said to Tucker, then they crossed the street.

“That was amazing,” Brooklyn gushed when they reached the other side.

“What?”

“The way Tucker stopped and then you listened and knew when to walk.”

“I can say my A,B,Cs and count to ten as well,” he joked.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to sound insulting,” she stammered. “I—I only meant it’s impressive how well you can get around.”

He reached out, feeling for her arm, a wry grin forming over his lips. “Sorry, that was my poor attempt at humor.”

“Okay, I get it. I’m gonna have to keep my eye on you,” she countered.

“I hope so.”

“Charm and looks.” She clucked her tongue. “What’s a girl supposed to do?”

He shook his head. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Uh, huh,” she quipped, “I’m sure I will.”

A smile tugged at his lips. She was flirting with him, and it felt good.

“I still can’t get over how well you know your way around the city,” Brooklyn said a few minutes later when they stopped in front of the restaurant.

“Thanks,” Dax said, his jaw tightening. Before the accident, he might’ve reacted the same way when seeing a blind man navigate his way through the city, but it came across as condescending. Most people assumed Tucker led Dax places. While Tucker was great, a guide dog could only follow basic commands, helping him stop at curbs and avoid obstacles. Although Tucker did manage to lead Dax to the men’s restroom, rather than the women’s, ninety percent of the time, but that was probably due to the scent.

“I’ve offended you, haven’t I?” Brooklyn said.

“No.”

“Yes, I have,” she countered. “I can see it on your face.”

He sighed. “I just don’t want to be thought of as an imbecile,” he muttered. For a split second, he’d felt like a man again, in control of his life, a beautiful woman walking beside him. But Brooklyn’s zeal to help him with every little thing brought attention to his disability.

“I don’t view you that way at all,” she retorted, righteous indignation quivering in her voice. “And if you believe that, then it’s your own dang fault. As a matter of fact, I think you’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.” She paused. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve gone through. Yet, you picked yourself up and carried on when most people would’ve just given up. If you can’t understand that then maybe you are an imbecile.” She blew out a breath. “You’re not even listening to a thing I’m saying. I might as well be talking to a wall.”

He rocked back. “Wow! You sure know how to hit a guy where it hurts.”

“Nope, just telling it like it is.”

The part about him being brave struck a chord. He didn’t feel brave, mostly just scared and desperate. His throat felt thick as he swallowed hard. “Contrary to what you think, I was listening. And I’m sorry I jumped down your throat. I was out of line,” he said, hoping the sincerity in his voice would ring through. “I sometimes assume the worst.”

“Obviously,” she said testily.

Dax didn’t need his eyes to know that Brooklyn was shooting him a frosty glare. He could feel the frustration emanating from her. His mind scrambled for a way to repair the damage he’d caused. He pointed at the restaurant entrance. “Shall we go in?” Why couldn’t he learn to keep his big mouth shut? It wasn’t Brooklyn’s fault he was emotionally scarred and overly sensitive about his blindness. He was always overthinking things, reading too much into the conversation. At this rate, he’d crash and burn before he made his first lap around the racetrack.