He looked at her then, really looked at her, and the intensity of his gaze made her next quip die on her lips. There was a lot going on under the surface with this man.
“I’m far from a monk, Amber,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving hers.
She suddenly realized he knew his way around women. “So,” she said, blowing out a breath and casting about for a way to change the subject. “What was going on today, over at the school?”
He blinked, and his face went back to its usual tense lines, and she almost regretted not following up on the meaning that had been in his eyes. Almost wanted to be the person who helped Paul lighten up and smile. And maybe more.
“I don’t know how much they told you about me, why I came into the Healing Heroes program,” he said.
She lifted her hands. “Nothing. I’m just, like, the manager of the cottage itself. It’s Earl who sets up the volunteer work, and Mary reads the applications.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry I brought you into all of my problems, then.” He drew in a breath, then let it out in a sigh. “It’s the PTSD thing.”
“What’s it from?” She really wanted to know, even though it was probably a rude question.
He glanced toward the living room, then stood, walked over and looked in. Had she offended him that badly, that he was going to just leave the room?
But no, he was just checking on Davey. “He’s asleep,” he said as he came back into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter. “I try not to talk about it in front of him.”
“Look, if you don’t want to discuss it, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked.”
He waved a hand. “No, the counselors say it’s good for me to talk about what happened. And I owe you, after you bailed me out today.”
“You don’t—”
“I was involved in an...an incident.” He cleared his throat. “At a school.” He paused, then spoke again. “It was a shooting.”
She gasped, her heart and stomach twisting. “Oh, no.” The reasons for his issues were suddenly crystal clear.
“I was supposed to protect everyone. I...couldn’t.” He paced over to the window and looked out into the darkness. “I don’t want to go into the details. I tried to go back to work again after my required leave, but...” He shook his head. “I was a danger. Too jumpy. Couldn’t even talk to the kids. I tried to give my resignation, and instead, they sent me here.”
She wanted to stand up and hug him, but she just didn’t know him that well. “I’m sorry. That sounds absolutely horrible.”
He looked back at her, then away. “I could have handled everything better.”
She wasn’t going to argue with that, even though she figured he was probably beating himself up without cause. The level of support he needed was beyond her pay grade. “Did you get counseling?”
He nodded. “Yeah. They mandate five sessions, and I did them.”
“Do you think you might need more?” She spoke hesitantly, not wanting to insult him.
To her surprise, he smiled. “Yeah. After the way I reacted at your place, and then today, I’d have to be stupid to think I could fix this just by gutting it out.”
“Counseling can be a godsend,” she said.
“You sound familiar with it.” He pulled out a chair, spun it around and straddled it, crossing his forearms over the chairback.
“I’ve had my share.” She wasn’t going to talk to him about it, though. She was going to enjoy looking at those muscular arms.
The dishwasher hummed, and from the living room, Davey’s movie was barely audible. Paul took another brownie and then shoved the plate toward her. “Take these away from me or I’ll eat the whole plate.”
Amber smiled and pulled the plate closer. She selected a small brownie and took a bite, and rich, dark chocolate practically exploded in her mouth. Heaven.
But Paul didn’t let her off the hook. “Was your counseling because of the cancer?”
“Yeah.” She noticed a couple of crumbs on the table and wiped them away with her napkin.
He tilted his head to one side. “Come on. I told you my story.”
Good point. “It’s been tough at times, worrying about whether I was going to make it, and how having a sick mom was affecting my daughter, Hannah.”
“You have a daughter?”
She nodded. “She’s in her first semester of college.”
“Wow. You must’ve had her young.” Then he waved a hand. “Sorry if that’s too personal of a comment. Not my business.”
“Hey,” she said, “as long as it means I still look young, I’ll take it as a compliment. Anyway, I had trouble coping with all of it by myself so I got some help. It’s not a shameful thing to do.”
“Is your cancer in remission?”
“We think it still is,” she said. “But they’re, quote, keeping an eye on some abnormal cells. Which feels scary, as I’m sure you recall.”
“Yeah.” His face went bleak, as bleak as she felt when she thought about the possibility of getting sick again. Of treatments and tests and doctor’s visits consuming all of her time. Of the major pain and minor discomforts of surgery. And most of all, the fear that she wouldn’t make it, that she wouldn’t get to do all the things she wanted to do, that she’d leave her daughter to grow the rest of the way up alone.
Their eyes met, and it was like Amber could see the sadness in his soul, a sadness that echoed her own. It wasn’t often she felt understood, but she did now, in this moment.
It felt a little too intense. “So,” she said, wanting to distract both of them, “I’ve decided I need to live it up while I can.”
“With your
