he simply smiled. “I was thinking about you, and then in you walked. Fancy that.”
“Fancy that.” She glanced at his arm and the healing scratches. She made a show of craning her neck to look at his ear and the bites there from the parrot. “You’re healing nicely.”
“Is that your way of saying ‘how are you?”’
“I guess it is.”
“Well, then, I’m good,” he said, and stroked her cheek when she smiled.
Marge showed up with two full plates of food, set them down, popping her gum. “Gotta say, Doc,” she said to Melissa. “I’m enjoying seeing you actually sit and enjoy. Don’t take this wrong now, but you’re usually so…stoic. This morning, you seem real. It’s a good look on you.” She winked at Jason. “Keep it up.”
Melissa stared at him as she walked away. “What does that mean? I’m a real person all the time.”
“Sure you are. It’s just that sometimes you forget to show it, that’s all. You’re doing a great job lately though.” Picking up his fork, he dug into his scrambled eggs. “This is far better than staring at a blank page.”
“You’re having trouble with a book?”
“Plot trouble. Character trouble. Hell, I’ve even got font trouble.”
“What’s your story?”
He never talked about a book before he turned it in to his editor. But she was looking at him, sweet and curious, so what the hell. “My hero has a recurring nightmare about not being able to get home. It’s hell all night long, then every morning he wakes up covered in sweat, terrified. Only, as it turns out, it’s not a nightmare at all. It’s real. He’s not home and he can’t get there. I just can’t figure out why.”
They ate for a while in silence, and then Melissa said, “Maybe he doesn’t know how to get there.”
“Yes, but—” He stared at her. Thought about it, and suddenly laughed. “Yes. He doesn’t know how to get there—not physically, of course. But getting home is complicated by his past, his issues, his…everything.” He scratched his jaw. “Yeah.” He smiled. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” She pushed her food around. “It’s always easier to solve someone else’s problems, you ever notice that?”
“Oh, I’ve noticed. Tell me yours. Maybe I can solve one for you.”
“I’m fine.” She took a few quick bites, avoiding his gaze, breaking his heart.
“Melissa.” He put a hand over hers. “Come on, share.”
She pulled her hand free.
“I thought we were past the no-touching-allowed thing.”
“This is going to take some getting used to.” She pointed at him. “You’re going to take some getting used to.”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “I’ve been told.”
She sighed, then looked at him, that spark of awareness and a whole host of other things in her eyes now. “I’m trying to get used to you. I…I want to get used to you.”
His heart swelled in his chest so that it hurt, it physically hurt, to look at her. “From you, that’s quite the declaration.”
That made her laugh. “How is it I feel like you know me so well after, what…a week?”
“Some things just are,” he said, shocked to find it so.
“Yeah.” She eyed him then rolled her eyes. “Do you really want to hear my problem?”
“Please.”
Her mouth curved into a reluctant smile. “I guess maybe I’m a little stressed. My office needs help I can’t give it. My mother showed up out of the blue and thinks she can help, that I ought to just let the past be the past and start anew. For some reason that I don’t really like to admit, I don’t feel like letting go of the past and giving in.” She released a breath. “So. How am I doing?”
Guilt was like a knife. “Good,” he said quietly, knowing he needed to tell her that he knew Rose, that he knew what Rose wanted from her, and in fact, knew the extremes she was willing to go to.
Instead, he leaned in and kissed her once, softly. He’d always been better at kissing instead of talking, and given her response, the quick intake of breath, the way her lips clung to his, the sleepy, sexy look in her eyes as he pulled back and looked into her face, she clearly felt the same way.
“Maybe you’re afraid of getting hurt,” he said very quietly, and held her hand when she would have pulled away. “I think it would be natural for you to be afraid of being hurt.”
“But it seems so…childish of me. I mean, I’m the one who moved here, to where she lives. I