Gift Wrapped Dad

“That claustrophobic sensation you’re experiencing is perfectly normal. People who are paralyzed or suddenly lose their sight or hearing often experience that kind of panic,” she said as she added water to the teakettle and turned on the burner.

“Does it go away?” he asked.

“Usually,” she said, reaching onto a shelf for two mugs.

Will flattened his palm against the ceramictile counter, smoothing his hand over the cool, shiny surface. Fluffy green area rugs were scattered here and there over the vinyl floor. The table was wood, the chairs cane backed. Woven shades covered the windows, and in the middle of it all, Krista stood at the stove pouring instant hot chocolate into mugs, her hair a riot of waves, her purple shirt clinging to her softly rounded form.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked.

“Three years,” she said, turning around to lean on the counter on the other side of the kitchen.

“Did you live here with Tommy’s father?”

She shook her head slowly. “That relationship ended before Tommy was born. After that, my wandering days were over.”

Will didn’t understand why her words struck such a chord inside him. Her statement was simple enough, but it seemed to be filled with hidden meaning.

“Decorators might think this room is a little too much,” she confessed, obviously attempting to change the subject. “But I like it. Most people decorate with color. I’m a texture person. It has to feel good in order for me to like it.”

He saw her suck in a quick breath as if she’d just realized what she’d said. He could have said something provocative. The Lord only knew how many possibilities flitted through his mind. She’d said she was a texture person. He imagined the texture of her palm gliding over his arm, up to his shoulders and across his chest. He imagined her fingers dipping to the center of his abdomen, and wandering farther.

They both jumped when the teakettle whistled, then grinned sheepishly when she removed it from the burner. While she stirred boiling water into the hot cocoa mix, Will looked on, trying to get his screaming hormones in check. He wanted Krista, but he knew she was right. He hadn’t come here, to Allentown in general or here tonight in particular, to start something. Besides, she’d told him in a couple of different ways that she wasn’t looking for a relationship. Once she’d said she’d sworn off men. Another time she’d told him that theirs would be strictly a patient/therapist relationship. Just now, she’d offered friendship in a roundabout way. Under the circumstances, Will didn’t see how he could turn it down or expect anything more.

She placed the mug of hot cocoa on the counter. Motioning to the low-backed bar stool behind him, she said, “Let’s sit in here.”

Will rounded the counter and leaned into the chair. After propping his crutches against the counter, he took a sip of cocoa and said, “Mmm. Tastes good.”

She nodded. “Hot chocolate is okay, but I dream about coffee.”

“You dream about coffee?”

She nodded again. “My one and only weakness.”

Will eyed her over the rim of his mug and said, “I know, I know. You used to have two, but you gave up men.”

He wasn’t sure he liked the fact that men had been easier for her to give up than coffee. “I can understand why you’re happy with your life, Krista. I mean, you have a cute kid and a nice house and a good job. But why would you give up men completely?”

Krista couldn’t help laughing at Will’s dark expression. Placing her hand on his arm, she said, “You make it sound like I gave up candy for Lent. I didn’t do it for penance, Will. I did it to find my own happiness.” Lifting her hand from his arm, she placed her palm over her heart.

“And did you find your own happiness?” he asked quietly.

She looked around her at her kitchen with all its textures, at the clutter on the counter near the phone, at the field-trip form she’d signed for Tommy and the refrigerator covered with his drawings. She eyed the watch she wore for work and her name badge she always put on just before she walked out the door.

“Not the kind I thought I always wanted, but yes,” she replied, keenly aware of his scrutiny. “I have.”

After a long silence while they both sipped their hot chocolate, she asked, “Have you?”

Will thought about her question. Had he found happiness? At times he was happy enough. He knew he was going to be thrilled when he could walk on his own again. But that wasn’t what she’d meant. He’d had a happy childhood and plenty of happy times. Until these past three months, he hadn’t given happiness much thought. Until tonight, he’d never put his feelings on the subject into words.

Smoothing his finger up and down the handle on his mug of hot cocoa, he said, “I was young and cocky when the Detroit Cougars drafted me into the minor leagues. When I made it to the major leagues the following year, I thought I was on top of the world, thought I was invincible. For three years, I was. Then I had a bad season, tore up my knee. My swing was off. So was my timing. Before I knew it, they traded me to the New York Titans, traded me like stamps or marbles. That brought me down a peg or two, believe me.”

“That’s the way of the game. You play by the rules. Nothing personal, right?” she said quietly.

Nothing personal. Will glanced sideways at her, wondering what she was thinking. “I guess pro sports is a long way from physical therapy, huh?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she answered. “They both have their rules. I think people should do what they enjoy.”

She tipped her mug up and drank the last of her cocoa. Mesmerized, Will stared at her slender neck as she swallowed, and then at her mouth as she flicked her tongue across her upper lip. She’d said people should do what they enjoyed. He’d enjoy tasting the chocolate on her lips.

His heart began to hammer in his chest and his breathing deepened as he said, “It would probably be against one of those rules to kiss you.”

She nodded. A second later, she started to laugh. She’d laughed this way earlier today, spontaneous and throaty. Then, like now, the sound sneaked into his senses, reminding him of how her laughter used to trail away when he touched her. His body heated from the memories alone. How he’d love to touch her again, to slide his hands into the V-neckline of her shirt and glide it down her body. He’d love to cover her breasts with his palms, then bend to take each peak into his mouth. And then he’d swing her into his arms and stride with her to the bed....

He came back to his senses in the nick of time. He couldn’t take her in his arms and carry her off to bed. He couldn’t even walk without crutches. Besides, if kissing his therapist was against the rules, he had no doubt that making love with her was, too.

He finished his own hot chocolate, aware that she was watching him intently. He replaced his mug on the counter and reached for his crutches. She looked a little surprised, as if she’d expected him to kiss her anyway, or at least to try. He’d have loved to do just that. But he wouldn’t, at least not yet.

She followed him as he made his way to the front door. Moving ahead of him, she opened it. Will turned on the top step, loving the surge of adrenaline pumping through his body.

“Will,” she said. “I don’t think I like what you’re thinking.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” he asked, the picture of innocence.

“Because I’ve seen that look in your eyes before,” she replied. “If I remember correctly you always looked like that when you had something dirty on your mind.”

He gave her a thorough once-over, silently giving her credit for being absolutely right. Rather than admitting it out loud, he said, “If you know what I’m thinking, I’m not the only one with a dirty mind.”

He saw the surprise in her eyes, and the sensuality, too. What a combination.

He glanced into her living room behind her, at all the textures she loved. She had changed in many ways, but in that way she was still the same. She’d always loved to touch.

Memories of Krista’s touch scattered his thoughts much like the late-night breeze was fluttering across the wet leaves on the sidewalk behind him. Like moisture soaking into those leaves, one thought soaked into his mind. In that instant, he began to wonder if maybe there had been more than one reason for his arrival in Pennsylvania.

Will had never believed in fate. He preferred to think that a person carved out his own future. But maybe fate had played a role in this, after all. Maybe fate had sent him to Krista’s house tonight. One thing he knew for sure: he’d gone there with panic tied around his windpipe. Now the panic was gone and desire was pumping through his body.

He wanted Krista Wilson. He wondered if it was against the rules to shout it at the top of his lungs. Whether it was or not, he wouldn’t do that. Sure, he wanted her, but if he was ever going to have her, he knew he’d have to be a lot more subtle than that.

Will suddenly felt as if this was the first inning of a brand-new game. The stands were full and the sun was shining. Billy the Kid was up to bat, and the sky was the limit. Will Sutherland was back in the game. In more ways than one.

“Good night, Krista,” he said before turning around, purposefully using his deepest tone of voice.

“Will?” she asked, drawing his gaze back to hers. “I just want you to know that you’re welcome to call or stop by whenever the walls start to close in on you.”

He felt as if his blood were thickening to molasses, swelling his chest and heating his body. “Thanks,” he said softly. “There’s something I’d like you to know, too.”

“What’s that?”

“Miss July and I never—” He clamped his mouth shut without finishing. Where in the world had that declaration come from?