Chapter 2 #2
“It’s not too bad, but we need to get this under cold, running water.” He gently pulls me to my feet and I dig in my heels.
“I can call Gina.” She might own the café now, but when she was in California—unknowingly involved with a married man who happened to be my husband—she was a practicing nurse.
“I’ve got this, Maria.” He guides me to the sink and turns on the cold water.
“So you’re a nurse now, are you?”
“No but when I was a kid, I played doctor.”
“Tuck,” I murmur, as he stands behind me, his body pressing against mine, as he turns the tap on low and puts my hand under it. It does little to cool the burn in my body.
His voice is as shaky as my body, when he asks, “Does that make it feel better?”
“Yes,” I murmur.
God, just the sound of his voice—his tender touch—makes everything better. Well, maybe that’s not entirely true. It does make one part of my body ache and that part is deep between my legs.
Lord help me.
Nothing but the sound of the water, and my heart pounding against my ribs fills the space, and when a soft moan catches in my throat he turns the water off and guides me back to my chair. I drop into it, staying perfectly quiet and he sits next to me. Our knees bump.
“Oh, sorry. This kitchen it’s so small.”
And getting smaller by the moment.
“It’s okay.” He doesn’t move his knee, instead he opens the first aid kit.
“Someday I’d like a bigger kitchen, a bigger home.”
“You like cooking? Even after working in the café all day?”
“I do. I’d love a big executive kitchen.
” My laugh is gravelly. “Honestly, I love cooking for people. I guess it’s my love language.
” His fingers linger on my flesh and I struggle not to concentrate on his touch.
“Do you like to cook?” Before he can answer, I blurt out, “Oh right. I remember that pasta salad you made last summer.”
That brings on a small chuckle.
“So you’d like to get a bigger place?” he asks.
I nod. “The boys are bigger now and we’re really starting to outgrow this space. Don’t get me wrong, I love that Gina lets us stay here, but someday.”
Stop rambling, girl.
“This bigger place…you’d stay in Boston?” he asks.
“Yeah, the boys like their school, and I wouldn’t want to take them away from their hockey family.”
“Your hockey family too.” I shrug and he eyes me for a second, then glances into the kit.
“Okay, let’s see what we have in here.” He pulls out an ointment, reads it and sets it on the table.
Next he pulls out gauze, tape and scissors, lining them up in a neat row. I grin, loving how meticulous he is.
“Something funny?”
“No, just noticing how you like to organize everything. Is that what makes you good at…ah, being a leader. Team leader?”
“Probably.” He shrugs it off, and takes my hand again, laying it on his rock-hard thigh.
Oh boy.
He carefully opens the ointment and squeezes from the bottom until a cool blob lands on the tip of his finger. “This might hurt.”
Something is hurting all right.
With a slow, gentle touch, he lightly rubs the soothing ointment onto my palm and while I don’t make a sound, he winces.
“Does that hurt you?” I ask.
He chuckles. “No, I was just worried it was going to sting when it touched your palm. It was a sympathy wince.”
My heart should not be tripping over his thoughtfulness. “I’m okay.”
He winks. “Tough, huh?”
“Probably,” I joke. When he grins, I ask, “You learned these skills when you played doctor?”
The corners of his mouth twitch and it does crazy things to my insides. “Not really. I was a boy scout.”
“Little Canadian boy scout. I think I can see that.” I don’t know a whole lot about Tuck. Other than he’s the team captain, and grew up in Nova Scotia, and well…he’s good with his hands in so many ways.
“Really, what do you see, Maria?”
God, something in the way he just said my name makes it hard to keep a focused thought.
“I don’t know,” I manage to get out. “I guess I see a tough little boy. Determined. Focused. Kind…” His eyes lift at that last word, and linger on mine for a second before reaching for the tape.
“Getting badges for being organized and a great leader.” I continue.
“Maybe even a first aid badge. Tuck Delray always taking care of others.”
His smile falls, a strange kind of hurt in his eyes before he quickly blinks it away. Whoa, I clearly triggered something. He cuts the tape, and when he wraps it around my hand, his rough calluses scrape my skin.
He finishes taping and I reach for his hand, spreading his palm open. “Did you get these from…?” I begin, as I lightly trace the calluses. My head lifts and I watch the intense way he’s following the movement of my finger over his palm. “Hockey?” I finally manage to push out.
“No…” His breathing changes, and I feel the hot puffs on my face. “Handling…uh…wood.”
“Handling...wood?”
His head lifts to find me biting my bottom lip, and I can tell from the gleam in his eyes the second he realizes how sexual that sounded. He chuckles and I’m happy that brief moment of hurt has passed, although I am curious. Not that I’d ask, it’s not my business.
“Not like that.”
“Not like what?” I ask, feigning innocence. “Wait, what do you think I mean?”
“Maria,” he breathes out, his head dipping, his eyes now on my lips. “I’m not talking about handling…” He wets his bottom lip, and a little noise escapes my throat as I find myself inching closer. “…my wood.”
“You have wood? What on earth do you mean?”
“Jesus,” he curses. “I was at Noah and Brighton’s cottage. Noah and I were cutting wood for his fireplace.”
“That was nice of you.”
“I can be nice,” he murmurs, and jumps back when a door down the hall flings open hard enough to hit the wall. “Shit,” he curses, guilt all over his face when his eyes meet mine. “Sorry about that. I shouldn’t have…”
He stops talking and I nod, once again grateful that we’re not alone.
I glance at the bandage. “Thanks for taking care of my hand.”
“What’s this?” he asks, his attention going to the textbooks on my table. I gulp, jump to my feet and quickly begin to gather them up. “You’re taking classes?”
I try to brush his question off. “I…uh…yeah, it’s nothing.”
His hand touches mine, stopping me. “It’s not nothing, Maria.”
Something in his voice, something warm and understanding, and maybe even gentle pride, stops me. I drop back into my chair and take in his suddenly hurt look as he gives a fast shake of his head, like he just realized my life was not his business. “Never mind. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“No, it’s okay.” I lightly touch his hand, and when his eyes lock on mine, I pull it back. “You just…you don’t think it’s crazy?” I ask, my gaze searching his face. “Going back to school at my age?”
“Hell, no. It’s never too late to go to school, or pursue your dreams.”