Dale smiled. “I know everything about training dogs.”

“Then maybe I’ll see you over there.” She walked toward the shelves.

Simon looked at his dad.

Dale shrugged. “Still got it. I can’t help that.”

“Dad, you have to stop lying.”

“That wasn’t lying. It was flirting.” Dale winked, though because of the strokes, it looked more like he was having a seizure, and then followed after Mrs. McCreary.

Leaving Emma alone with Simon. They stared at each other for a long beat. She wanted to play it cool and mysterious, like she had her shit together, but she didn’t. Couldn’t. Not with the man she was falling for in spite of herself leaning against the counter.

Then Simon pulled off his sunglasses and gave her a small smile. Suddenly she could see past the mouthwatering exterior. The weary—and wary—gaze. The set of his broad shoulders. His hair was standing up from running his fingers through it. It all added up to unhappiness. If she wasn’t so mad at him, her heart would ache. Okay, fine, her heart did ache. “Hey,” she said quietly. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry about last night.”

“You mean when you said things couldn’t keep happening between us unless my life was back on track because I wasn’t ready?”

His gaze was steady. “Yes.”

“Then I’m confused. Because my life is on track. I’ve got a business partner. A job. A place to live. That September 5K. So there’s a pretty big hole in your rationale for why we’re not having mutually satisfying orgasms as the opportunities arise.”

His eyes heated at the orgasm comment, but he didn’t say anything. Yep, she was definitely missing a piece of the Simon Armstrong puzzle, but she thought maybe she was getting closer to locating it. “You didn’t bail because of me not being ready,” she said. “You bailed because you’re not ready.”

He wasn’t exactly an open book, but she saw something flicker in Simon’s eyes—regret?—before he turned his head and took in the organized chaos going on around them.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” she asked.

His gaze came back to hers. More longing. More regret. “My life doesn’t lend itself to relationships.”

She didn’t know which was worse, the frustration or the anger that he wasn’t willing to even try. No, neither of those things. The worst part was the way her heart ached for what would never be just because he was stubborn. “Who said anything about a relationship?”

“You deserve one, Emma. You deserve everything.”

“I told you from the very beginning that I wasn’t looking for a relationship.”

He looked at her, into her, it seemed, and she let him because she’d spoken the truth.

“What do you want?” he finally asked.

Emma spread her hands. “Look at me. I’m living day to day. Hell, sometimes moment to moment. That’s where I live now, in the moment.”

“And that’s enough for you?”

“Yes.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

She shrugged. “I’m focusing on healing—physically and emotionally,” she said, letting Simon know she’d heard what he’d said on the roof, because he’d been right about that. “I don’t think I can open up to another person while I’m doing that. It wouldn’t be fair to them, plus why would anyone want to sign up for that kind of baggage?”

“You don’t think that person can decide for themselves?”

“I think feelings cloud things,” she said, letting the steel of her resolve come out clear in her voice.

“You deserve more, Emma. A lot more.”

She leaned in close, like she was telling him a secret, when really she just wanted to feel him against her. “You know, for someone whose life doesn’t lend itself to relationships, you sure talk about them a lot.”

Simon leaned in too, until they were practically chest to chest, thigh to thigh. “I meant what I said, Emma. You deserve a real relationship, a good one. But—”

“I swear, if you say ‘my life doesn’t lend itself to relationships’ one more time . . .”

“Listen to me. I ruined my last relationship because I’m either at one of two jobs, or taking care of my dad. I don’t have time for anyone else in my life, and from experience, most women expect—”

“I’m not most women, Simon.”

He stared at her and then let out a breath, a hint of a smile in his eyes. “No kidding.”

Emma wanted to wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze . . . but she also wanted to have her merry way with him. If only she could do both, but she did neither. “I’ve gotta get going. What brought you here today?”

“Besides you?” he asked, and she had to ignore the way her heart skipped a beat. “I needed to talk to Alison. I’ve got a PT appointment and I can’t miss this one. I’d take Dad with me, but the last time I did that, he walked off and ended up at the mall with my credit card. I’m still paying off the massage chair.”

She snorted. “Gotta love him. So what was your plan? Drop him off here?”

Simon looked around, like that hadn’t occurred to him. “I didn’t think she’d be staying here all day.” He noted Miss Kitty in her chair in the front corner, knitting away. “Do you take people too?”

“Just dogs and cats, and as of today, a turtle named Sammy.”

As if on cue, there was suddenly an odd banging-on-tin sound.

Hog tipped his head back and gave a mournful howl.

Simon raised a brow.

“Meet Sammy,” Emma said.

“The turtle?”

“He’s banging on his pie tin. Wants his lettuce.”

Simon stared at her for a beat and then smiled. “This place really does suit you.”

Another skipped heartbeat. At this point, she was going to start needing beta-blockers to control the arrhythmia. “Alison won’t be back for a few.” Emma glanced over at Dale, who was now sitting on the floor with Mrs. McCreary, surrounded by books he’d pulled off the shelves, happily reading to her out loud. With one arm, of course, because the other was casted. “I’ll take him,” she said softly.

“What? No. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”