Winona #2
His smile is practically debilitating after thirty-six hours of not seeing him.
“You like reading,” he says as a point of fact more than a question.
“Geese and I have that in common,” I say.
Declan’s still smiling. And that’s all I wanted.
I walk toward the family room, talking to Declan as he follows behind me on his crutches.
“I don’t travel much,” I say. “I’ve never been anywhere outside Tennessee and North Carolina except for one trip I took with my book club friends to California. But, in books, I’ve been everywhere. I’ve been hundreds of people too. I get to live through the characters.”
“Huh,” Declan says.
He’s staring at Geese as I set her on the coffee table and pivot toward him.
“So, I’ll be bringing Geese to book club. But we only meet every few weeks or so. Otherwise, she’ll be at home on your porch.”
He nods. “I … um. Thanks.”
“Well, she won’t be naked, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Naked?”
“She has clothes. I just hadn’t dressed her yet.”
“Clothes?”
“Yes. Like this.” I pull a ballerina outfit out of the bag. “For when she’s feeling festive. Or this.” I pull out a raincoat and hat. “For bad weather.”
“She has clothes?”
“Of course. You don’t think I’d put a buck-naked goose on your porch, do you?”
“No. You definitely wouldn’t. You’d put … one with a tutu.”
I nod. “Exactly.”
His eyes meet mine and he gives me another one of his smiles. My chest tightens, a warmth flooding me.
Inconvenient crush.
I look away from Declan—or try to. My eyes make it about three inches before they drift back. He's watching me in a way I had gotten used to over the past three weeks, only this time it’s like I'm a problem he's working through.
“Have a seat and put your leg up before we head out,” I say, getting us back on track. “I want to look at your foot.”
“Now there's a line a guy doesn't hear every day.” He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
He maneuvers to the couch, and I make the mistake of watching the shift of his shoulders, the controlled way he lowers himself, despite the crutches. He moves with athletic grace, even here in his house, despite his injury.
Declan props his leg on the cushion and I crouch down, repeating a little mantra I haven’t had to use in a while: Patient, nurse. Patient, nurse. Patient, nurse.
I check for swelling and discoloration—any sign of residual inflammation.
I try to ignore the way he's gone very still while I examine him.
The air feels heavy.
Too heavy.
Too much unspoken.
Too many realities just outside this bubble we’re living in.
So, I poke his baby toe. It curls reflexively and I gaze up, past his foot and his leg, up across the snug T-shirt that’s molding to his upper body, showing off every rock-hard muscle he’s honed to perfection over the years.
My stomach flutters. Is this what they mean in romance novels when the heroine gets butterflies? The sensation almost tickles, making me momentarily light-headed.
My eyes land on the amused grin on Declan’s face.
“Well?” he says.
“You look good,” I say. “And still ticklish.”
“Is that your professional opinion?” he asks.
“Completely professional,” I say with a smile.
He studies me with something careful in his expression, something I’ve occasionally imagined I saw in his lingering gaze, something I can't afford to name. Something possibly utterly unprofessional.
My face goes warm and I drop my eyes back to his foot even though I’ve already finished assessing his condition.
“You're in a mood today,” I say, pulling myself back so I’m sitting on my heels.
“A good mood,” he echoes.
I stare at him and he holds my eye contact. For a moment, it’s just the two of us—Declan, this guy I’ve been getting to know, and me, Winona, a woman who comes to spend time with him.
I shake my head slightly, looking over at the coffee table to break the spell.
“It's the goose,” I say. “Admit it. It’s hard to be around her without smiling.”
He laughs softly. “It's definitely the goose.”
I stand up, stepping back to catch my breath. My head swirls with thoughts I can’t entertain—distracting, inappropriate, unrealistic thoughts about Declan O’Connell.
He’s still smiling. “Picturing my dad's face when he sees it will have me smiling the rest of the day.”
“Your dad likes geese?” I ask.
“I'm not sure. But this one …” Declan’s eyes drop to Geese, then come back to me, “... will definitely make an impression on him.”
We stare at one another again. My body heats like I’m sitting by a campfire.
I glance around for the bag of Geese’s wardrobe.
"We should go," I say.
"We should," he agrees, but he doesn't move.
I pick up the bag. “Where do you want all of Geese’s accessories?”
“Hall closet works.”
I head there and Declan reaches for his crutches, propelling into the hallway and ending up right behind me. I turn and there’s a moment where we're standing in the same small space and I can smell him—like a fresh load of laundry and morning coffee, being curled on a couch in his arms …
“Winona.”
I look up at him. I shouldn't, but I do.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice low and sincere, all traces of playfulness gone. “For the goose. For—” he pauses, searching for words, maybe pushing some down so he won’t let them slip. “All of it.”
I nod. And I feel the helpless upward pull of my smile, unstoppable and all for him.
“Don't thank me yet,” I say, stepping away from him before my fingers take on a mind of their own and rub down the stubble on his jawline. “You still haven't seen her bikini and pool floatie.”
He laughs—a real one, low and full—and I turn toward the door before he sees what he does to me.
The train is headed downhill. No brakes. And it’s picking up speed.