“A nap sounds gr—” Emma gritted her teeth on the last word as her calf muscles suddenly seized, making her curl into herself. She tried to straighten her leg to ward it off, also knowing she couldn’t, and sure enough the cramp gripped her like a vise, sending searing pain through her whole body. She cried out as she scrambled up, putting weight on the foot, trying to relieve the pressure.

Hands caught her. Simon, of course. He dropped down to massage her leg, working his magic until the unbearable tightness was gone and so was the pain. “Breathe,” he said quietly and waited for her to do so, to mimic his slow, steady breathing.

But it was hard to draw air in slowly and steadily when she felt betrayed by her body. It’d been almost a year, a whole damn year, and she hated the helplessness of knowing that her body still couldn’t be trusted.

“It’s okay to be angry,” Simon said while his hands continued to work on her calf.

Emma opened her eyes and found him watching her carefully. He did that, always assessing what he was doing, how she was taking it, and there was comfort in that. Much as she teased him about being a hard-ass, he was actually the opposite.

“You’re not doing your stretching at night,” he said.

“Not as much as I should,” she admitted through clenched teeth. “I know, not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, right?”

“You’re plenty sharp, Emma. You’ve just got a couple of blind spots. We all have them.”

“Yeah, right. Name one blind spot of yours.”

Those fascinating gold and green eyes of his held hers, a slight raise to his brow, and her insides got a little squishy. She was his blind spot?

His hand, on her leg, squeezed a little as his eyes lit with amusement and affection, which had her gaping at him like a fish out of water. “Um . . .”

His low chuckle didn’t help. He pointed at her, gesturing her back to the stretching she wasn’t doing.

Right. And clearly he could find his professionalism in a single heartbeat, but she sure couldn’t.

“Do your stretching at night, before you get into bed.”

“I’ve been using nighttime to stress about getting work. People ask about my huge gap in employment, which means explaining I was in a coma, which then changes how they look at me.”

“And how do they look at you?”

She gestured to herself. “No one wants someone this damaged. I come with implied problems.”

“Any implied problems are their own. You’re not damaged, Emma.”

“You might want to get your eyes checked.”

“My eyes are fine.”

Her breath caught in her throat. He was hunkered before her, close, very close. They’d been in this position many times before, but they’d never stared at each other while her heart thundered in her ears.

Kelly moved past them.

Flustered, Emma jerked to her feet and backed away.

Simon didn’t move. Nor did he seem flustered in the slightest. Just got quietly to his feet and waited for her to look at him.

“We done now?” she asked.

He gave a slow nod. “For now.”

They stared at each other and she wondered if there really was something there or she was just imagining it. And why that thought came with a little fear. Fear she wouldn’t be ready, that she’d never be ready again. “Okay, then,” she said. “Gotta go.” And like she did with just about everything, she ran off like the hounds of hell were on her heels. Well, okay, walked, because her legs hurt and running was no longer in her repertoire.

Chapter 3

Step 3: Be aware of your RBF—resting bitch face.

Alison Pratt was used to shit days, but today took the cake. Work sucked. Life sucked. At least five times today she’d gone to call her boyfriend, Ryan, who always, always, knew how to make her feel better, but when she pulled up her favorites, his contact was no longer there.

Because oh yeah, he’d broken up with her. Heartbroken, she’d deleted him out of her favorites and—because she was weak—changed his contact to DO NOT CALL!

Leaving work, she headed down Wildstone’s Commercial Row, the fun, quaint four-block-long “downtown.” The Old West–style buildings had been there since the early 1900s and were filled with an eclectic, quirky mix of touristy, artsy galleries, ski and bike shops, cafés, and B&Bs.

Alison stopped at Caro’s Diner rather than go home to her empty town house. Empty because, though Ryan hadn’t officially been living with her, he’d kept stuff there. A toothbrush. Clothes. His Xbox . . .

All gone now.

Sick of thinking about it, Alison walked through the postdinner crowd. Not much of a people fan, she typically headed straight to the back booth, which was almost always open since apparently she was the only introvert in the area. She slid into the booth, and two minutes later Louise, her favorite waitress, showed up. She was at least seventy, possibly a hundred, and wore her usual uniform of a hot pink button-up dress, white apron, and sassy expression. “Hey, doll. Your usual?”

“Yes, please, but double the fries and add a beer as well?”

Louise eyed the empty seat across from her, winked, and walked away. She hadn’t bothered to write anything down on her pad. She wasn’t going to charge Alison. She never did. Alison managed this building. She actually managed a bunch of buildings in the area for Armstrong Properties. That was her job, and it was a good one. She couldn’t take full credit for it, as she’d gotten it via nepotism. But the salary was good and she was better than good at the job. Plus she loved no longer being poorer than dirt.

Her boss favored this place because it was a short walk from where he lived. Alison favored this place because the diner made the best french fries on the planet, and her favorite comfort food happened to be french fries and wine.

Five minutes later, Alison was sipping her wine and working her way through the french fries when Simon came in and sank onto the bench across from her. Her cousin—and reluctant boss—smiled in gratitude when she pushed the beer she’d ordered toward him. He dug into the french fries as well.

There were other people at tables near them. Any of the female persuasion were eyeing Simon. This had been happening since puberty, when he’d shot straight up to six feet and, thanks to his athleticism, had the build to go with it. And then there was his laid-back attitude, the one that effectively hid a sharp intellect and a low tolerance for BS. All of which added up to an attractiveness that drew women to him like bees to honey.