She flipped her wrist to show him the I’m fine tat.

“I thought we talked about how using your words is necessary.”

“Sometimes it’s about silence,” she said.

“Yeah?” His gaze flicked to Ryan walking off the field with a couple of the guys. “How’s that working out for you?”

Behind his dad’s back, Alison flipped her wrist again, this time so she could show him her middle finger.

“Ha ha,” Simon said as his phone rang. Ryan. Sliding Alison a look, he answered.

“You coming to dinner with the team?” Ryan wanted to know.

He glanced over at his dad. “Sorry, can’t.”

“I’ve got Dale,” Alison said.

Simon put Ryan on mute. “What?”

“I’ll take him for you.”

“Why?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Okay, let me rephrase,” he said. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask, I offered. I promised him we’d marathon the latest season of Total Bellas.”

Still staring at her, Simon unmuted Ryan, said he’d catch up with them and to save him a seat. Then he disconnected and looked at Alison some more. She hated reality TV. “What am I missing?”

She let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I had an epiphany, okay? I realized that when I lost Ryan, I didn’t have a lot of friends.”

“And I’m what, chopped liver?”

“You’re related to me. You have to like me.”

He laughed. “No, I don’t.”

“But you do, right?”

She looked just a touch worried, so Simon tugged on a strand of her hair again. “I like you a whole lot, pissiness and all.”

Alison rolled her eyes. “I’m looking to make someone else like me.”

“Like a certain engineer named Ryan?”

“Well, yes, but I have to work my way up to him.” She drew a deep breath. “I’m not supergood at this, all right? But it’s not like I’m incapable or anything. I mean, I know how to love, blah blah. I’m just not good at peopling. So I’m going to practice.”

He blinked and opened his mouth, but before he could do anything, she jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare laugh. This means a lot to me. And it’s not just about a stupid guy either. I’m going to learn how to make and keep friendships going.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “I like it. How?”

“By practicing on you and your dad and anyone else I can think of. I googled some ideas during the game.” She pulled out her phone. “Item number one,” she read. “Get over yourself, the fear is in your head.” She grimaced. “That might be true. Item number two: Be nice—which by the way, your dad also suggested. Number three: Listen.” She nodded. “I could definitely do better there. And there’re a bunch of little tips, like be aware of your resting bitch face.”

He laughed.

“Whatever. There’s lots more things to try, like put yourself out there, don’t give in to the fear, show up . . . I can totally do this.” She paused. “Probably. Oh and speaking of that, your contact called me about the lease for the Oak Street building and I was very nice. I’ll get her an application and set up a time to meet with her.”

“Great.” Simon knew he should’ve told her right then and there that it was the same woman renting 2A. But he knew Alison. She’d drive him crazy about him pulling favors and want to know who this woman was to him. Frankly, he didn’t want to explain it because . . . he didn’t know what Emma was to him. A patient, yes. Also a friend. But there was more.

He wanted her.

He’d refused to acknowledge that for a long, long time now. But even when she’d been vulnerable and in so much pain, she’d been a force of bright light in a world that had become dark. She was resilient, determined, smart as hell, and incredibly, adorably sexy. And—and this was his favorite—stubborn as hell.

He’d told himself he could never have her, of course. She was a patient, and he wouldn’t cross the line. But the line was getting harder to see. “She’s the nicest person I know,” he said. “So be . . . really nice.”

“Hello, did you not hear my item number two?”

He shook his head and laughed. “Go for it. And you know what? I bet you two become good friends.”

“Well, let’s not go overboard.”

Chapter 8

Step 8: Connect.

That night, Emma stood outside her apartment door, staring up the stairs to the attic. Might as well have been Mount Everest. She’d spent way too much time on her laptop today. Simon had told her from day one that sitting was death. He’d been correct, of course. She felt like a creaky skeleton. She needed to move.

But the stairs, the steep stairs, mocked her. The old Emma would have run up, no problem. Emma 2.0 wanted a nap. She sighed, but didn’t walk away. She was going to do this. It was about pride now. She needed the sense of empowerment, and sitting on the roof watching the stars would go a long way toward soothing her aching bones and her equally aching soul. Determined, she pointed at the stairs. “I’m coming for you.”

At her side, Hog huffed out a breath. St. Bernards needed daily exercise to keep their energy from turning destructive, but no one had ever told Hog that. “You do realize that someday, I am going to be back to running,” she said. Maybe . . .

He plopped onto his belly and closed his eyes. Denial was his friend. Hers too. But she’d had enough of it. “Come on, big guy. Get up.”

Hog gave a loud snore.

“You’re faking.”

He farted.

Emma sighed and fanned the air. “If you do this, I’ll make you scrambled eggs after.”

At the mention of his favorite, he opened one chocolate brown eye to gauge her honesty. She nodded.

With a grunt, he leapt up with surprising dexterity, making her laugh. “I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen you move.” She eyed the stairs again. “Okay, here we go.” She held on to the handrail. “Yep. Totally doing this.” Drawing a deep breath, she began. “One . . .” She was already exhausted. Like to-the-bone exhausted. She’d given up on job hunting and had turned her focus to acquiring Paw Pals. She’d created a business plan. She knew what she needed in the way of start-up funds. She’d applied for a business loan. And . . . she’d been turned down for a business loan. Refusing to let that get to her, she was already working on another application for a different bank, as well as filling out the lease paperwork Armstrong Properties had sent to her. She’d gotten stuck on the line requiring her to fill in her current source of income.