“Where?” she asked warily. “And more importantly, why?”
“For a ride and then to the beach. The humidity’s low, there’s a wonderful breeze. It’s a perfect day for a picnic. As for why, it’s because I thought it might cheer you up to have a change of scenery.”
“Who’s been complaining about my mood?”
He grinned. “No one had to. I know you. You’ve never been good at being idle. Me, I would have thought this would be the perfect time for you to create one of those amazing quilts you make, but I remember how your mind works. It’s a little twisted.”
She scowled at him. “Did you just insult me?”
“Nope, just telling the truth. Instead of seizing this as an opportunity, you can’t get past the fact that you’re feeling as though you’re trapped in this apartment. Am I right?”
“Okay, yes, but you were never one bit better at forced relaxation than I am.”
“True, but we’re not talking about me. Now, about the beach—yes or no?”
Closing her eyes, she could practically see the waves on the bay, smell the salt air, feel the breeze against her cheeks. It sounded heavenly. Then she sighed. “I can’t.”
“Why not? Do you have other plans?”
“Of course not.” She gestured toward the door. “In case you haven’t noticed, there are steps. Haven’t you been listening? I can’t manage them,” she admitted with frustration.
“Which is why I will carry you in my big, strong arms,” he said. “Try not to wiggle and get me too excited.”
Again, a laugh erupted before she could contain it. “As if.” She looked into his eyes. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because someone very wise asked me what I thought you’d want more than anything about now. I realized you were probably going a little stir-crazy.”
“More than a little,” she said.
“Then you’ll come with me?”
She weighed the danger—letting herself be drawn right back into Connor’s world—against her desire for a change of scenery. The danger didn’t seem that extreme by comparison with her total boredom.
“Let’s go,” she said, and struggled to her feet, determined to maintain at least a shred of independence. She made it across the room on her crutches, and Connor let her do it. Only when they’d stepped onto the landing outside did he scoop her up as if she were weightless and carry her down the stairs.
Snuggled against his chest, she allowed herself to bury her head against his shoulder for just an instant so she could breathe in the wonderfully masculine scent of him, a blending of soap and a faint hint of familiar aftershave. Buried deep in her closet, she still had one of his shirts, stolen when she’d left him, that smelled exactly like this. In moments of weakness, she dragged it out and slept with it. It had given her comfort on some of her darkest nights since the separation.
When they reached his car, she caught him grinning. “What?” she demanded.
“You were sniffing me.”
“I most certainly was not,” she said indignantly and felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“You always did like that aftershave. You said it reminded you of margaritas, which for some reason I could never figure out.”
“The limes,” she said without thinking, then winced at the revealing statement.
He gave her a smug look. “You know, it was a funny thing. When you left, my favorite green flannel shirt disappeared.”
She refused to meet his gaze. “Really? What do you think happened to it?”
He shrugged. “I can’t say for sure, but I seem to recall coming home late from the office a couple of times and finding you all curled up in bed in that shirt. You said it smelled like me.”
“I’d forgotten that,” she claimed.
“I’m sure,” he said wryly, settling her carefully into the passenger seat of the car, which he’d thoughtfully moved back so her casted leg could extend straight out.
“Why are you making such a big deal about a stupid old shirt?”
He leveled a look into her eyes and made sure she was looking back before responding. “It’s not about the shirt, and you know it.”
She managed a defiant tone. “Then what is it about, Connor?”
“You miss me.”
She swallowed hard and prayed that neither her voice nor the color in her cheeks would give her away. “Do not.”
“You’re lying through your teeth, sweetheart, but it’s okay. I’ve missed you, too. Now let’s just go to the beach and enjoy the day.”
“If you’re going to be making arrogant claims all afternoon, I’m not sure how much enjoyment we’ll have.”
“Oh, come on,” he teased. “There’s nothing you love more than bringing me back down to size. I’m doing you a favor by saying stuff like this. It gets you all riled up. I doubt you’ve felt this alive in ages.”
Sadly, it was true, but not even the threat of torture would have made her admit it. “This is a bad idea,” she muttered, even as she settled back into the seat, ready to see what the afternoon would bring. Sometimes going with a bad idea was the only way to live.
CHAPTER 19
Rather than going to the main beach in the center of town, Connor opted for a more secluded stretch of sand just outside of the Chesapeake Shores city limits. Here the homes were smaller and, in many ways, less pretentious than those in Chesapeake Shores. Many had been around for years, owned by families and passed from generation to generation. In some cases the paint had been neglected and the porches were weathered, but despite that, there was an undeniable, old-fashioned charm about them.
He’d always liked it out here, especially during the week, because the beach was deserted then. He could recall coming here to get some privacy with his
