Feels So Right

“Right.”

She expected the cynical reaction. “Any hobbies?”

“Swimming, biking and running.”

“Uh-huh.” Somehow she kept from gritting her teeth. “Anything you did before you took up triathlons? Something you’d enjoy rediscovering?”

His eyes lit for a brief moment before he could resolutely shut down into misery again. Aha. There was something. Good thing, because he definitely needed a jump start back into feeling productive.

“I used to play alto sax.” He laughed without humor and shrugged. “I was pretty bad.”

“Doesn’t matter. If you still have the instrument, bring it by in a week or so when you’re standing easier. What else?”

His eyes narrowed. “Bring it here?”

She returned his gaze calmly. Was he going to fight her on everything? “How much does an alto sax weigh, about ten pounds?”

“Not quite.”

“Heavy enough. I want to watch you play to make sure you’re handling the instrument in a way that isn’t going to sabotage your progress. What else?”

His expression grew darker; clearly he thought her questions a waste of time. She had to remind herself to focus on that glimmer of mischief and good humor that had transformed him. She wanted to bring that man back, healed, whole and happy. Because if he stayed like this, she was going to have to medicate herself to be anywhere near him.

“I used to have another hobby.”

“Yes …?”

“I made knives.”

“Knives.” She wasn’t sure what to think about that. “Tell me more.”

“More?” He shrugged. “I made knives.”

Grrr. Just talk to me. “What kind?”

“Kitchen, hunting, whatever.”

“You make them from scratch? Blade and everything?”

“Everything.” A glint of pride. “Handle, blade … yes.”

“How cool.” She let the silence go a few seconds. “Why did you stop?”

“Ran out of time.”

“Would you say making knives brought you some of the same satisfaction as—”

“Here we go again.” He sent her a mocking look. “Is this physical therapy or—”

“Okay, okay.” She waved his question away. “My point is—”

“That my life isn’t over. I have plenty to live for, and though it might seem bleak right now it’s always darkest before the dawn and the world is my oyster.”

“Colin.” She looked at him disapprovingly. “You forgot every cloud has a silver lining and when God closes a door He opens a window.”

He actually grinned at that, making him even more irresistible. “I guess I did.”

“All joking aside, positive thinking, can-do attitudes and looking for silver linings are the tenets my practice is built on, so you can expect to hear about them until you’re ready to scream. When do you want to come back?” She pulled her calendar up on her iPhone before he could make fun of her again. “Next week I’ve got Wednesday open at two o’clock.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Good.” She stood. “We’ll make progress. Just please don’t push between now and then. Once the pain is gone, and I mean gone, not bearable, you can ride your bike ten or fifteen minutes, easy, sitting up straight. If that goes well, we’ll increase. Also, once the pain is gone, do a few, just a few, core exercises to keep those muscles from deteriorating too far. We need them strong to keep the pressure off your spine.”

“Right.”

“No cheating. No superhuman stuff. Baby steps at the beginning until the swelling is down.”

“Right.” He walked to the door, obviously in a hurry to escape her lecture, which, perversely, made her talk faster.

“Heat if you’re stiff. Ice if the pain seems new.”

“Right.”

“Colin.” Instead of kicking him in the gluteals, which she wanted to do, she gave him an encouraging smile, trying for supportive counselor and trusted medical adviser. “You’re going to be okay. Better than okay. You’re going to—”

“Right.” He opened her door and took off down the hall, still walking stiffly but looser than when he came in.

Demi strode back into her office, closed the door and slumped against it. Colin was going to be tough. She wanted to heal him and let him see enough progress that he could shake off his despair. He needed self-motivation and spirit to do the hard work of fighting back to his new normal. She hoped she could be enough coach, inspiration and taskmaster to help him—while keeping herself and her goofy crush under control.

Every part of her hoped that Colin’s recovery was smooth and quick. For his sake and hers.

Because if it wasn’t, there was a good chance one of them would lose it.

3

“HEY, BONNIE, how’s it going?”

Bonnie turned from a bucket of irises she was arranging in her shop, Bonnie Blooms, and grinned at Seth. He looked devastatingly handsome as usual in jeans and a gray shirt that matched his eyes. He could have been a model if he hadn’t wanted to be a musician. “Hey, there.”

Nothing in the world gave her as much pleasure as being able to greet Seth without feeling wistful and lovesick. Five years ago they’d broken up, after one year of dating in college that ended when Bonnie got serious and Seth got itchy. Since then, especially once they’d both moved into the Come to Your Senses building, they’d been dancing a painful and cautious circles-around-each-other minuet that had ended last August when Bonnie had finally, finally signed up for Seattledates.com.

Not only that, but now, a month and a half later, after many disasters, some comical, some cringe-worthy, most just bland, she’d finally, finally had a good date. A really good date. Extremely fun, in fact, with Don Stemper. She’d dated a few guys in the five years since she and Seth broke up, but this was the first time she had her head together and could give a new relationship one hundred percent.

“What’s happening?”

She glanced pointedly at the flowers in her hands. “I’m arranging irises. What’s happening with you?”

“I’m standing here talking to you.”

“Ha-ha.” She cut off an inch from one stem and replaced the bloom in water. Her shop was full of buckets of various flowers set at different levels, to give the shopper the impression that he or she had just walked into a carefully landscaped garden or an outdoor flower market. Bonnie was incredibly pleased with the effect. Unfortunately shoppers hadn’t exactly been showing up in droves. Wedding season, in full tilt over the summer, had tided her over, brought some of her debt under control, and she was almost current on her payments, but business had slowed again, and she was in no shape to ride out bad times.

The one downside of her life right now, which she didn’t like thinking about.

“You seen that guy again?” Seth spoke so ultracasually she knew immediately whom he meant.

“Don?”

“Yeah, whoever.” He was practically growling, eyes stormy, his short, dark hair even more disheveled than usual, as if he’d been yanking on it all morning while composing his songs—a sure sign he was upset.

Bonnie wished she could feel vindictive and triumphant at the switch—for a change, she was moving on and he was left behind. Instead, she felt tender and guilty. Guilty? Ha! As if! She had nothing to feel guilty about. Seth had ended their relationship, not her. He was the one with the issues. If he was still in love with her and wanted her, he knew how to get her back. With a big fat until-death-do-us-part commitment. Bonnie would trust nothing less. But he’d shown no signs of wanting anything more than to get all stressed out about her decision to date, though to his credit, he’d done nothing to dissuade her and seemed to understand and support her decision.

They’d had one good nostalgic tumble in August, a strangely freeing experience that had been, in effect, a goodbye.

Mmm. A damn good nostalgic tumble. She’d been bent over the arm of the couch with her legs hooked around his back and he’d been—

Oof. Better not to think about that.

“Remember Matti?”

“Matti?” Of course she did. One of those unbearably gorgeous “friends” Seth kept coming up with. This one he’d bumped into in a bar, which apparently in his world constituted friendship. Matti had been interested in renting space in Bonnie’s shop to sell perfume, which would have been incredibly helpful to Bonnie’s bottom line. She’d agreed to consider it after Seth assured her he wasn’t out for Matti’s “bottom line” himself. “Nope, never heard of her.”

“The perfume lady.”

“Ohhh.” Bonnie repositioned a group of alstroemeria in its bucket, pretending to be only half listening. For too long she’d hung on to Seth’s every word, eagerly looking for any possible sign that he was weakening, that he realized how special their relationship was, that he wanted to take it to the next level. In the past six months, he’d seemed to be making snail’s-pace progress, but she had been hurt too many times to trust any of it. “Yes, I remember now. What’s happening with her?”

“She decided not to rent space in your shop. Sorry about that.”

Bonnie rolled her eyes. “Given that it’s been over a month since you mentioned her, I’m not exactly shocked.”

“Not a month.” He looked stunned. “Has it been? I thought it was—Wait …”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Someone’s had his brain immersed in his music.”

“I guess.” He pulled a pink rose out of a nearby bucket and handed it to her. “For you.”

“Awww, thanks, Seth.” She made a big show of rolling her eyes, cursing her traitor heart for beating the tiniest bit faster when he handed her the flower.

“I was thinking …”

She snorted. “Don’t strain anything.”

“I have the perfect Christmas present for you.”

Bonnie stiffened. Oh, no. He was not going to start with this seduction crap again, was he? Not that it mattered. She had Don to think about now, to fantasize about, to talk to and confide in. His profile had said he was looking for marriage, right there in black and white, and wow, men could do that? In every way he was better for her than Seth Blackstone, no matter the size of Seth’s … trust fund.

“That idea Angela had, about the Come to Your Senses holiday promotional? I can pay your share of the group advertising.” He shrugged. “No wrapping or ribbon, but I thought you might like that.”

She put the pink rose back into its bucket, incredibly touched, and yes, feeling guilty for assuming Seth had been about to bribe her with some expensive gift. Instead, he was trying to help out, knowing she struggled to keep up with expenses others could take on without blinking. “Seth. That is so sweet. But I can’t let you—”

“Hey, this is a present.” He gave her a severe look, which made him so fiercely sexy she wanted to attack him. But, being newly-in-control Bonnie, she didn’t. “Very rude to turn it down.”

“How about a loan?”

“How about a gift?”

“How about half of the cost?”

“How about all of the cost?” He put a finger to her lips as she was about to speak again. She tried very hard not to shiver, and nearly succeeded. “Look, Bonnie, I have unfair amounts of money, you’re struggling right now, this would make me happy, and it would make it possible for you to be part of the Come to Your Senses special, which you should be because it makes brilliant business sense. So stuff the pride down your pants and say, ‘Seth, you utterly astounding man, I bow to your mind-blowing brilliance and accept.’”

Bonnie bit her lip, thinking it over. If the group did a lot of advertising, which they should, the costs would probably add up to the total of what she had in her savings account. A loan would help. An outright gift would help even more. Seth had offered financial assistance several times and she’d always turned him down, but she did desperately want to be part of the event. “How about a simple thank-you?”

“Hmm.” He pretended to consider. “So a blow job is out of the question?”

“Seth!” She cracked up, knowing he was kidding, pushing away the image of that incredibly sexy look he got on his face when she—”It is most definitely out of the question.”

“Okay, okay.” He grinned, which turned him instantly from bad boy to farm boy, a transition that never stopped amazing her. “I’m glad you’ll let me help.”

“I’m really grateful, Seth. You know I am.”

“Yeah …” He dropped his head and rubbed the back of his neck, which meant he had something emotionally risky or otherwise difficult to say. “So you seeing that Don guy again?”

“I am.” Sadness started building in her chest just when she most wanted to feel happy. She turned away, moved to a bucket of gerbera daisies, unable to face him. “We’re going out to dinner tonight.”

“That’s fast. Didn’t you just have a first date with him?”

“Fast?” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You and I were in bed within a week.”

“Geez, Bon.” His voice was tight. “You’re going to sleep with him?”

Bonnie’s throat cramped. Ironic that she so hated causing him pain, since he’d caused her so damn much so many times.

“Seth.” She turned to find he’d come up behind her much closer than she expected. With buckets at her back, she couldn’t move away, had to tip her head to meet his gray eyes, which showed a flash of entirely uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I am a grown woman who has met a man I really like. If I continue to really like him then yes. Sleeping together is a natural progression.”

The second the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. No, not quite regretted. She’d spoken the truth. But this was Seth. A man she cared for … had cared for very, very much. And the way his beautiful tough-guy eyes had just gone dead and his strong jaw had turned to stone, she knew she was hurting him. But since, in his typically caveman way, he was having trouble accepting the idea of Bonnie with someone else, she might as well be blunt, even if it seemed cruel.

And frankly, she’d spent the better part of the past nearly two years since moving into this building watching Seth parade around with one stunning woman after another, so she couldn’t say she was totally dying of sympathy. Maybe now he’d start cluing into what her life had been like so many times after he left her. Not that she’d ever want to be vindictive about this. Just pay him back a little. Which was different. Sort of.

“I was wondering.” He had his hands in his pockets and was looking down at her with that magnetic gaze that used to regularly set her on fire. “If you wanted to have dinner sometime. Maybe Friday? Either out or at my place?”

She gaped at him, heat flooding her face. Never in the five years since they’d broken up had he ever issued an advance invitation like this, as if he was asking her on a formal date. In fact, not even while they were dating. Their plans were always made last-minute. Hey, let’s do this, let’s do that, here’s what I feel like, how about you?

“Wow. Seth, that is really sweet. And you are the world’s greatest cook. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why?” He put his hands on his hips, which seemed to broaden his chest, make his proximity even more intimate. “Did you and Don agree not to see other people?”

“No, no.” She laughed nervously. “A little too soon for that.”

“So you’re open to dating other men?”

“Well, yes, but, Seth—”

“Am I not a man?” He glanced down at his pants suspiciously. “I’m pretty sure I qualify.”

Did he ever. “Seth, come on. It’s different with you and me.”

“How about if it wasn’t?”

She frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath, clearly struggling. “How about if we erased everything and started over? You and me. A first date.”

She narrowed her eyes. What was this about? He’d told her a couple of months ago that he was starting therapy, to learn why he was resisting her. Had his invitation evolved from that process?

“I’m sorry, Seth, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“You afraid?” His eyebrow quirked; he was already gaining confidence, knowing how much she hated that particular taunt.

“Of you?” She threw out a loud and unconvincing “Ha!”

“Prove it. Have dinner with me.” He was too close, the pull of his body undeniable. “Upstairs, my place, Friday night.”

He was right. She was afraid. Terribly afraid. Afraid of falling for him again. Afraid of being hurt. She’d come such a long way, had worked so hard to be at peace around him. No way was she going back to vulnerability and pain. He and his therapist might like the idea of starting over, but you couldn’t chuck as much baggage as they had just by wanting to.

“Sorry, can’t.”

“You mean won’t?”

Bonnie nodded brusquely, lump the size of Cleveland in her throat, wanting to have dinner with him, hating that she did and that he was making her choose yet again. “Won’t.”

“I was planning to make shepherd’s pie. With chocolate hazelnut cheesecake for dessert.”

She glared at him. “You like to fight dirty.”

“Seven o’clock?”

“I’m not coming.”

“Think about it.”

She rolled her eyes. When he got like this, he wouldn’t let go. Probably because he sensed her hesitation, sensed her slight weakness. Seth knew her way, way too well, and having grown up extremely wealthy, he was used to getting what he wanted. Though his parents had skimped on the things that really mattered, like love and attention. “I won’t change my mind.”

She saw the triumph in his eyes. He thought he had her.

If he was talking about the chocolate hazelnut cheesecake, he might be right as far as her appetite went. The rest of her? He couldn’t have that. She was keeping that safe. Safe for a new man and for herself.

TEARS RAN DOWN Demi’s cheeks, which she bravely ignored. She and Wesley were sitting at her kitchen table shoveling in mouthfuls of the incendiary Noodles from Hell from their favorite Thai restaurant. They both adored and suffered through the dish, though they considered it a badge of honor not to wince or admit to the chili-induced agony. Demi had bought Wesley his drink at Joe Bar, and they’d come back here for dinner and dessert, in the mood for some edible torture.

“So tell me something.” Demi cheated just a little by pushing aside a particularly large chunk of red bird’s-eye chili pepper. Big difference between brave and suicidal. “Why is it that men are considered strong if they don’t show emotion? Who decided that was masculine?”

“Hmm.” Wesley stifled a gasp and poured half a beer down his throat. “If I had to answer that …”

“Which you do because I asked.”

“I’d say because children have no control over emotions and women have less control than men. Women and children are weak and need protecting—” He held up his hand to stop Demi’s outrage. “Calm down, I’m speaking biologically.”

“Okay …” She grudgingly let him continue.

“So in order to be least like women and children—in other words, the most masculine—men have to be strong and emotionless.”

“Doesn’t that seem stupid to you?”

“Extremely.” He ate another mouthful, chewing cautiously. “If it was up to me, we’d change it. But for some reason it isn’t.”

Demi frowned at him, thinking he looked better and stronger every time she saw him. “We need to put you in charge, Wesley. Of the globe. Would you mind?”

His blue eyes went wide. “Could I still have ice cream?”

“Absolutely.” She took a sip of beer and pushed her plate away, tired of her dinner giving her first-degree burns. “How did you escape the Culture of Macho?”

“I wouldn’t say I escaped.” He rubbed a hand thoughtfully through his thick, dark hair. “Though I did cry during one of our appointments.”

“I remember.” She reached to squeeze his hand. “Nearly broke my heart.”

“Softie.”

“Me? I’m hard as nails. But we were talking about you.”

“As we should be.” He smiled his easy, dynamite smile. “I had three sisters, for one. And my dad was emotional. He was also crazy about my mom and we got to see that. He cried when he was really sad, and acted as if that was completely normal.”

“Which it is.”

“He helped around the house in nontraditional ways, too.”

“My dad didn’t do squat. My sister-in-law is finding out what that’s like, too, since my brother takes after him.” She gestured to Wesley with her beer. “Your wife will be one lucky woman.”

“So will your husband.” He laughed at the sight of her startled face. “Scared you, huh.”

“Husband? Husband?” She clutched at her chest. “I’m too young. Husbands are for grown-ups.”

“In some cultures twenty-eight would make you a hopeless spinster.”

“I’d make a good one.”

“No, you wouldn’t, Demi.” His dark-lashed eyes took on a warmth that made her blush. “Too much passion in you to waste on sexual aids.”

“Oh, geez.” She made a hideous face, hiding giggles.

“So …” He spoke so casually she went on instant alert. “Demi …”

“Wesley …?”

“What brought up all this talk about the Culture of Macho and marriage?” He put a long finger to his cheek and tipped his head. “Could it have anything to do with yesterday’s visit by Colin ‘Ironman’ Russo?”

“Of course it does. Well, no, not the marriage part.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “But the guy can barely move. I worked really deeply on him and he does this whole stoic statue thing. It just seems stupid he couldn’t yell, ‘Ow, that effing hurts!’”

Wesley looked at her skeptically. “Would you do that in a professional office?”

“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “That’s partly my point, too. It’s ridiculous for anyone to hide normal feelings of pain.”

“Your studio would get kind of noisy.”

“At times.” She twisted her mouth, pushing her unused knife back and forth on the tablecloth. “Truth is, I’m not sure what to do about him.”

“Jump him?”

She wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. “He’s not only hurting in his body.”

“I’m not surprised.” Wesley drained his beer, his handsome face shadowed. “Tough journey out of that pain.”

“He wasn’t hurt nearly as badly as you were, but like you his athletic career meant everything to him.”

“He just thinks it does.”

“Yes, he just thinks it does. That’s my point. You found coaching. I’m not sure what he’ll do.” She swirled more pasta onto her fork, mouth craving another shot of pain. “I wonder if he should meet you and hear about—”

“Ha!” Wesley was already shaking his head. “Hear about my sad story? So you can say hey, guess what? Instead of being a world champion triathlete, you could be a suburban high-school track coach. He’s not ready for that.”

“He might be.”

Wesley gave her a look.

“At some point he might be,” Demi said.

“Then at some point I’d be happy to.”

“He’ll get there. I just need to make sure I don’t push him too hard.” She laughed. “I mean emotionally. I don’t think I can push him too hard physically. He’d work until both legs dropped off and barely notice.”

“Exercise addicts are like that.”

“Exactly.” Demi stood and carried their plates to her sink, surprised at how rattled she felt by this discussion. “Want some ice cream?”

“Is there any answer possible besides yes?”

“Nope.” She opened the freezer. “Häagen-Dazs Vanilla Swiss Almond?”

Wesley groaned. “Do you know what it’s like having to cut back from a three-thousand-calorie diet?”

“Nope.” She pried the top off the carton. “One scoop or two?”

“Two.” He sighed resignedly and patted his flat stomach. “Already gained ten pounds, what’s a couple more?”

“Yeah, but you were down way low from running, Wesley. You look great.” She tried not to compare his lean, slender frame to the broad torso and hard muscles of her triathlete obsession. She should picture Colin hugely obese.

That didn’t work, either.

“What does this god among men do besides work out?”

Demi served him a glare along with his ice cream and a spoon. “He used to play sax and he made knives from scratch before he became a triathlon junkie. Maybe he can go back to that.”