“Traitor,” Emma murmured with no heat and possibly even a smile in her voice. “He likes it up here too. So why do you need a hideaway, Simon Armstrong?”

“Work. Life.” He shrugged. “Up here I don’t have to think about anything hard. It’s my safe-space bubble from the real world.”

“Sorry I broke into it.”

“I’m not.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, her gaze locked on his for a long beat before she turned back to watching the stars now twinkling down on them. A slow-moving cluster of clouds began to streak the sky.

“That one looks like two dragons doing it,” she said out of the blue.

It really did, and he laughed, then gestured to two puffy round clouds just barely touching. “What about those?”

She snorted. “If you say boobs . . .”

He laughed again. “Oh, so you can point out dragons getting down, but I can’t point out boobs?”

“Just sayin’, it’s a very guy thing to see.”

“Well, I am a guy, so . . .”

“Hmmm.” She took another sip of beer, staring up at the sky. “I mean, yeah, okay, they do look like boobs, but they’re definitely store bought.”

“And?”

She sidled him a look. “Do guys really like that sort of thing?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure we’re that picky.”

She smiled and sat up slowly, unsuccessfully hiding her wince. She stretched her arms and her neck and winced again. When she caught him watching her, she shook her head at him. “I’ve just been doing more than I should. Unpacking and stuff.”

“I’m surprised that your ex didn’t offer to unpack you.”

“Oh, he was done unpacking my stuff the day of the accident.”

“He clearly wanted to stick around and do something for you.”

“Yeah, well, the last thing he did was my best friend so I think he’s done enough. And it’s not like I can really blame him. A year’s a long time to wait.”

“Not if it’s the right person.”

She looked at him again, and something happened to the air between them. It crackled with a new energy. Not much surprised Simon anymore, but Emma had from the very beginning, and now was no different. Before this past week, she’d never looked at him in a way to suggest she might be interested in him as something other than her PT. But he was pretty sure she was looking at him that way now.

It stole his breath.

“I need to tell you something,” she said quietly.

“Anything.”

“I’m off men.”

The words made sense, but completely contrasted with the way she’d shifted closer. He’d done the same, which was stupid and dangerous on his part. She’d been hurt enough, and he moved back.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know why I said that, why I thought you should know.”

Simon was torn between the urge to touch her and trying to ignore the way her eyes drank him up. But then she made a soft sound that went right through him in the very best of ways and closed her eyes for a single breath before meeting his gaze again. “It’s just that there’s something here, isn’t there?”

He gave a slow nod. “Yeah, there is.” And while Emma might be surprised by it, he wasn’t because he’d been doing his best to pretend it didn’t exist for a long time now.

“But I really am off . . . everything,” she whispered.

“It’s okay,” he whispered back.

She shifted her weight to straighten out her left leg, which he knew still cramped up on her. She needed at least one more surgery to fix what was suspected to be a slipped screw from her tib-fib fracture, but could also be damaged nerves. “Did you get the date of your next surgery yet?”

She looked relieved at the subject change. “I’m still working it out with insurance.”

Unfortunately, she had crap insurance coverage. As a PE teacher at a local private high school, she’d been an independent contractor. The self-employed coverage options were appalling, and as far as he was concerned, also a crime. She’d gotten a settlement, not nearly enough in his mind, and certainly not enough to pay for an out-of-pocket surgery. “Need me to help you stretch that out?”

“What I need is chocolate. Or more alcohol. Or some combo of the two.”

He opened the icebox and produced a bag of chocolate candies. “Leftovers from Valentine’s Day,” he said when she raised a brow.

“It’s June.”

He shrugged. “And?”

She snatched the bag. “And what kind of a monster lets candy sit around for months uneaten?”

He laughed and feigned trying to take the bag back.

“Touch it and die.” She looked at the bag more closely, reading the slogans on each individually wrapped chocolate. Love you, or love you not. “A girlfriend?”

“An ex.”

Emma’s brows went up. “Do you have an ex-squared too?”

He gave her an amused look. “No.”

“Lucky you.” She opened the bag. “It feels a little like we’re in high school sharing a bottle of booze you stole from your dad’s stash.”

“My dad’s stash also included an old stack of Penthouses. If you want me to go grab those, just say the word.”

She smiled and tipped his heart over.

“How did your mom feel about the Penthouses?” she asked.

“Hard to say. She died a long time ago.”

She met his gaze, her pretty dark eyes warm and sorrowful. “That sucks.”

If she’d given him an empty platitude, he’d have done what he always did when it came up. Nodded and moved on. Because he never talked about it with anyone. “It was cancer. When I was a freshman in high school.”

“Oh my God. How devastating.”

“Yeah. Neither me nor my dad dealt with it well.” Apparently now that he’d started playing the sharing game, he couldn’t seem to shut the hell up. “Another beer?”

“Not unless you plan to carry me down. And nice subject change.”

Simon laughed, and so did she, and it was a beautiful sound. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard it sound so easy and carefree before. And if he wanted her to remain a patient, he’d have to make sure he didn’t hear it again.