She got up to put some more bread on the table. “He’s an actor. That comes with the territory.”
“You won’t be jealous?”
“Why would I? It’s not real.”
Martin lifted his glass. “Better not be,” he muttered.
Gail promptly changed the subject. “We found a place to live today.”
“Where at?” Joe signaled for more wine, and since Gail had just filled Martin’s glass, she came around to pour it.
“You know that little Victorian where the Widow Nelson used to live?”
“The white one? All by itself at the end of Autumn Lane?”
“That’s it.”
A nostalgic smile curved Joe’s lips. “How could I forget? She used to give out caramel apples at Halloween.”
“Yeah, her place was always our first stop,” Gail said.
Apparently in this area they didn’t have to worry about someone putting razor blades in the apples. That was definitely an upside to such a small community. Another upside. Simon was finding quite a few of them.
Martin pushed back his chair. “I thought you wanted to rent. That house is up for sale.”
“We’ve decided to buy,” Gail informed him as she put the wine back on the counter.
“How much are they asking?”
Simon tried not to let his eyes latch on to the bottle. “Two hundred and fifty thousand.”
“That’s not bad,” Martin told him, “considering the land.”
“The house needs some work,” Gail said.
Joe carried his plate to the sink. “You could have Riley fix it up before you move in.”
Gail motioned in Simon’s direction. “Actually, Simon is planning to do the renovations once he gets his stitches out. He’s very good with his hands.” She cleared her throat when she realized how that had sounded. “With wood,” she clarified.
Joe turned off the faucet and set his plate on the counter. “Holler if you need any help with that,” he said to Simon. “I’m not so bad with my hands, either.” He grinned at Gail but seemed serious about the offer of help.
“Will do.” Simon relaxed despite the relentless pull of the alcohol. There was something about Whiskey Creek and its people. Even with a wife who wouldn’t let him touch her and the doubt Gail’s father and brother had to be feeling about their marriage, Simon was beginning to feel comfortable. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t felt this good, this whole, in months.
Maybe he was through the worst of it, he thought.
But then he got another text from Bella.
* * *
Gail could tell this night wasn’t going to go as well as the last one. Simon had been fine for most of the day. Better than she’d ever seen him. There’d been times when they’d talked and laughed as if he was just an average person and not a celebrity desperate to recover his son.
But now he was restless, fidgety. He couldn’t seem to shut down and sleep. After tossing and turning for a while, he seemed to doze off. But when she woke sometime during the night, she found him standing at the window, gazing pensively out into the yard.
“Is anything wrong?” she mumbled.
He glanced over his shoulder. He was still wearing the pajama bottoms he’d had on earlier but not his T-shirt. Gail had no idea where that had gone.
“No. You can go back to sleep,” he said.
Unwilling to leave him up alone, she slid over to his side of the bed. Getting closer to him meant she could keep her voice down. “We could talk, if you like.”
He shrugged. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
The moon outlined his profile in silver. Gail stared at his bare back, his broad shoulders, hunched just enough to show he was brooding even if he pretended otherwise. His hair stood up as though he’d run his fingers through it several times. Obviously he wasn’t okay.
Could she get him to tell her what was troubling him? Or…somehow…help him stop worrying? She didn’t want him to backslide. He’d made so much progress in the two weeks since they’d reached their agreement.
“Come here,” she said.
Suddenly wary, as if he didn’t trust what she might be offering, he glanced at her again. “What for?”
“I’ll give you a massage. It might help you sleep.”
“That’s not necessary.”
Under normal circumstances, he would’ve had a flip answer for her, or some sort of sexual innuendo; the fact that he didn’t told her he was hurting too badly to accept help. Maybe he thought accepting help would be revealing he needed it, and heaven forbid he need anyone, especially a woman.
“Come on,” she coaxed. As much as she hated to admit it, she’d been looking for an excuse to touch him ever since he’d kissed her earlier. No, before that. From the beginning. He’d just never shown any interest in her—not when he was a client, so she’d never allowed herself to seriously entertain the thought.
“There’s no reason for you to be up all night,” she said with a little more authority.
Sighing, he sat on the edge of the bed, and she got up to fetch the lotion from the bathroom across the hall. But when she returned and put a hand on his shoulder to urge him to lie down, he resisted.
“What is it?” she asked.
He gave her such an intense look she knew he wanted something other than a massage. “Kiss me instead.”
Gail swallowed hard. Today, every one of his smiles, every touch of their fingers or accidental brush of their arms, had sent her nerves into a jangling riot of desire that reminded her of those few minutes when he’d cupped her br**sts. It didn’t help that she was beginning to really care about him, that seeing him healthy and happy was becoming more important to her every day.
She was in a very precarious position, had no reason to even consider his request. But she wanted to ease his discomfort. And she wanted to kiss him.
“You’d just like to check out of reality for a while,” she said, forcing them both to face the truth. “And I’m convenient. But…whatever you’re feeling…it’ll pass by morning.”
“Damn it, don’t say that like I’m trying to use you,” he snapped. “I’m tired of being psychoanalyzed, tired of being found lacking. I know more about what’s wrong with me than anyone else does. I don’t need you to tell me what I want or what I’ll do.”
He was impatient, irritable, probably unsure how to end the pain. He wasn’t even in familiar surroundings. Gail feared that might weaken his determination, cause him to turn back to alcohol.