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He found the pillow he’d used to prop her foot the night before kicked to the end of the bed. He grabbed it and gently elevated the swollen ankle again. Then he produced item number two, his bathroom first aid kit.

“You know,” she told him, “for someone who works primarily with animals, you’re awfully good at taking care of humans.”

A month ago, his inner monologue would have warred with her, claiming he didn’t know the first thing about taking care of anyone when it truly mattered. But aside from his recollection of that contrary voice in his head, it didn’t speak to him now.

“This is where you say thank you,” she stage-whispered.

Eli laughed. “Sorry. Lost in my head for a second.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

From the first aid kit, he pulled another instant cold pack and placed it beneath her ankle on the pillow.

“Hey…” Beth said. “I found one of those on the bed next to my head this morning.” She pointed to her right. “And there’s another one on the floor.” Her eyes softened when she looked at him again. She grabbed his pillow and hugged it to her chest. “Wow. You really did take care of me last night. I’m so sorry I ruined your surprise and about…” She trailed off for a moment before continuing. “I would have been out there sooner and been a lot less inebriated if I hadn’t downed that fourth pint like it was water.”

His brow furrowed. “A fourth?”

Beth groaned and buried her chin and part of her mouth behind the pillow. “I asked you to dance, and you didn’t want to, and speaking of getting lost in your head? Mine went right to the explanation. I mean obviously that song was special to you for reasons, and I should probably be more sensitive to stuff like that, but as far as I know I’ve never dated a guy who has been through what you’ve been through, and I’ve never cared enough about anyone else to even ask. But I care about you, Eli. And I’m sorry if—”

“I can’t dance,” Eli interrupted.

For several seconds, she just stared at him.

“Wait…what? How? Why? I don’t—you’ve got moves.”

He laughed, then scrubbed a hand over his unshaved jaw. “Tess was…” He sighed. “Tess liked what she liked and did what she did. She didn’t care about first dances or a big wedding…or an even bigger white dress.” He shrugged. “So we did a small gathering at the tavern with immediate family and a few friends, some pizza, and plenty of beer. I suspect her insistence there not be anything even resembling a dance floor at the party was her wedding gift to me, but she denied it. Claimed it was because her dad had a bad hip, and she didn’t want him to feel left out.”

Beth smiled, but the expression didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Sounds like she really loved you.”

He nodded. “But it also means we didn’t have a first dance or any sort of special song.” He slid closer to her, and this time she didn’t flinch. “But next time, maybe before assuming the worst and pounding an entire pint, you can just ask?”

His chest ached, no longer at the fear of forgetting who Tess was but at Beth thinking she had any less effect on him simply because she hadn’t been the one in his life first.

“Really?” She lowered the pillow.

“Really.” He gave the pillow a soft tug, and she relinquished it willingly, which he took as an invitation to move even closer, close enough to slide his fingers into her hair and cradle her head in his palm.

She nodded slowly. “Do you miss her?”

He nodded right back. “We always miss the people we lose. It’s the beautiful, shitty part of being human.”

“You’re so evolved,” she said softly, no hint of teasing in her tone.

“I guess I am,” he realized out loud. When had it happened, this evolution? No one notified him. There was no certificate sent in the mail. But somewhere in the past three years—or maybe only as recently as the past month—he’d learned that he could love, lose, heal, and start over. Huh. Who knew?

“You’re like a full-grown adult,” Beth added. “And I’m still this kid with stars in her eyes chasing a dream that doesn’t seem to want to be caught.”

He leaned in and kissed her softly. “You just took a detour,” he whispered. Eli was her detour. He knew this. Yet right here, with Beth in his bed looking at him with those glassy green eyes, he dared to hope that maybe, someday, her road might lead back to him. But for now, she was here, and he wouldn’t squander the time they had.

“A detour,” she repeated. “Like I got on the wrong train or something, but eventually it’ll take me where I need to be, right?” She kissed him back.

“Exactly,” he replied. “And for the record, you ruined nothing last night. Except maybe that trash can on First Street.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. “You’ve seen me at my worst, and you still want to kiss me.” It wasn’t a question but a realization.

Eli dipped his head so his mouth was a breath away from her ear.

“I want to kiss you always,” he whispered.

She shivered.