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As if my stomach heard him, it wakes up with an indignant rumble. “I suppose I could eat.” I unfurl my legs to get up. “I’ll just check what’s in the kitchen.”

“Let me do it.” He touches my shoulder, gently nudging me back onto the couch.

Just like each time he touches me, my foolish heart flips over and my stomach flutters.

No, not from hunger. From this ridiculous, hopeless longing I can’t seem to suppress no matter how many times I tell myself just friends. Just friends. Just friends.

“I’ll make up one of those charcuterie plates,” Gage offers. As he heads into the kitchen he adds teasingly, “I’ll even put some of that stinky cheese on it.”

“Gorgonzola is not stinky. It’s?—”

“Pungent. I know.” Gage glances down at Toby and Elmore, who have abandoned me to follow the hopeful promise of food in the kitchen. “What do you think, guys? Do you like gorgonzola?”

“If you drop it on the floor, I’m sure they’d eat it,” I say with a laugh.

“Probably,” he agrees. “But maybe we’ll stick with doggie treats for them, instead.

” Now in the kitchen, he reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a box of gourmet dog biscuits.

Spotting the treats, Toby and Elmore sit so quickly they make loud thunks on the floor.

Gage hands a biscuit to each of them, then pats them both on the head.

“So,” he continues as he pulls an assortment of cheese and meat from the fridge. “Would you like to watch a movie? Maybe that docuseries you mentioned? I know the doctor said to go easy on screen time, but half an hour might be okay.”

“You don’t have to go home? Check on Dewey?”

Gage turns to look over at me. “He’s over at Enzo and Winter’s place. I asked Winter if she could watch him while I was staying at the hospital. Dewey gets along great with their dog, so it’s not a problem.”

He doesn’t seem bothered by it, but I still feel bad. “If you want to go home, I understand.”

“Do you want me to go home?”

“No.” Selfish or not, I feel much better with Gage here. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“I don’t mind at all, Ror.” He picks up a wooden serving board practically overflowing with food and heads back to the living room. Halfway back, his leg buckles slightly, and he has to take a quick half-step to catch his balance.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “Did you?—”

“I’m fine.” It’s quick. Sharp. A scowl crosses his face but disappears almost as quickly. “Just wasn’t paying attention is all.”

His step steady again, Gage closes the distance to the couch and sets the platter on the coffee table. He fusses with it for a few seconds, rearranging the little jars of jam and stacks of cheese and rolled slices of prosciutto. A tiny muscle in his jaw twitches.

Worry twists my stomach. Did I do something wrong? Is Gage hurt? Upset? Angry?

I’m debating whether to ask when he sits back on the couch and glances over at me with a wry smile. “I guess this isn’t very nutritious, is it? Do you want me to go cut up some vegetables? I think I saw red peppers and cucumbers in the fridge.”

He doesn’t look upset anymore. So I decide to tuck my worry aside and focus on more positive things. Like this incredible-looking charcuterie board sitting on the coffee table. And the very handsome and thoughtful man who just put it together for me.

“Who needs vegetables?” I ask with a light laugh. “This looks perfect.”

“What about a drink?” Gage asks. He starts to rise from the couch again. “There’s water, obviously, cranberry juice, almond milk—the unsweetened vanilla kind—or I could make you some tea…”

Without thinking, I place my hand on his leg to stop him. “No, I’m fine. Just?—”

But my brain splinters as the feel of his muscled thigh beneath my hand registers.

It shouldn’t throw me like this. After all, I’ve touched men before. Been intimate with them, though it’s been more years than I’d like to admit. But something about my hand on Gage’s leg, feeling the flex of his muscles and the heat searing into my skin…

It’s something completely different.

And for a second, as his gaze flickers over to me, I wonder if he feels the same.

I wonder if the darkening of his eyes is from desire and not concern.

I wonder if he feels the same spark as me.

Then Gage looks at my forehead, and it’s a cruel reminder of reality.

Is he looking at my bruise, now a kaleidoscope of reds and blues and purples, or at the scar I’ll never be rid of?

I whip my hand away from his leg and busy it making my own little cracker and cheese sandwich. “I’m okay for now,” I tell him. “Maybe after I eat, I’ll grab something.”

A few seconds go by before he answers. “Okay. But if you change your mind, I can get anything you want. Or if it’s not here, I can run to my place.

Or Enzo and Winter’s. You haven’t seen their house yet.

It’s on the other side of the property. I’m sure Winter will invite you over once you’re feeling a little better. ”

Get it together. Stop obsessing over Gage.

With a smile that only feels a little strained, I reply, “That would be nice. I haven’t seen Winter since she came to adopt Rusty. I’d like to see how they’re doing.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll see Winter and Lark soon. They wanted to come over today, but I wasn’t sure if you’d be up to it.” Gage pops another mountainous cracker sandwich in his mouth, finishing it before he says, “So. Did you want to put anything on TV? Or would you prefer the quiet?”

“Well.” I think for a second. “Since you have your laptop here, would you mind showing me one of the flight simulators you work on? If it’s okay? I’ve heard you talk about them so much, and I looked up some examples online…”

“You want to try flying?” Gage brightens. Though I know he’s thirty-eight, for a moment, he looks twenty years younger than that. “I could show you how to do it. If you’d like.”

A beat later, he amends. “Well. It might not be a good idea for you to actually try the simulator while you have a concussion. But I can show you how it works. And in a few days, if you’re feeling okay, then you could try it for yourself.”

A flare of excitement kindles in my chest. Ever since Gage told me about being a Night Stalker, I’ve been fascinated by it.

I have this mental image in my head of Gage piloting a helicopter—maybe a Black Hawk, like I read about online—all intense and sexy and totally in control.

And I know a flight simulator isn’t the same, but it’s something .

“I’d love that,” I tell him, feeling more enthusiastic than I have in days. “And I’d definitely like to try flying.”

“It’s incredible,” he replies. His gaze goes distant for a moment. “The feeling of it is just… indescribable. The sim I have on my laptop isn’t the same, of course, but there’s one that uses VR goggles that feels really close. Once your concussion is better, I could show that one to you, too.”

“That would be amazing. If you don’t mind?”

Gage stares at me, an unreadable emotion working in his eyes. “I’d love to show you how to fly, Ror. I think you’ll love it.”

As we look at each other, something moves between us.

A frisson of electricity.

A magnetic pull.

My heart does that flipping over thing again.

Butterflies take flight in my stomach.

I know we’re just friends.

But I wish…

I wish we were more.