The first part of his response made the rational part of me breathe a sigh of relief, but the latter gave me warm fuzzies inside.
Drew was also still wearing just a towel, his wrapped around his narrow waist, and I was enjoying the view of his back muscles flexing as he chopped an onion, when I noticed a scar. It ran diagonally along the side of his torso, extending from the front to the back. The mark was faded to a lighter shade of tan than the rest of his skin—definitely not new, but something serious had happened.
“Did you have surgery?” I asked.
“Hmmm?” Drew dropped some butter into the frying pan and turned with brows drawn.
I pointed. “Your scar.”
A flicker of something passed over his face. Sadness, I thought. He turned back around as he responded. “Yeah. Surgery a few years back.”
Maybe I was looking too much into things, scrutinizing everything he did, but I couldn’t help it. My mind was trying to put together a puzzle without knowing what the picture looked like.
Drew chopped up a bunch of other things, refusing to let me help. When he plated two gorgeous Western omelets, they looked like they could have been made at one of Baldwin’s fancy restaurants.
Baldwin.
I couldn’t waste another three years pining for a man who was never going to return my feelings. I needed to remember that Drew wasn’t interested in more than sex. Getting attached and growing feelings for this man was not an option.
Yet…I couldn’t help feeling some sort of connection to Drew. Like there was a reason I got ripped off and wound up sitting in his office on New Year’s Eve. Stupid, I know. I had no idea what the connection between us was just yet, but I was determined to find out.
We made small talk throughout our meal, and then I cleaned up. There weren’t enough dishes to run the dishwasher, so I washed while Drew dried. The two of us worked well together, and I found myself thinking it was interesting how in the office our opinions and counsel were so opposite, yet physically we were so in sync.
“You want a drink? Glass of wine or something?” he asked when the kitchen was put back together neatly.
“No, thanks. I’m too full.”
He nodded. “Come on, let’s go sit in the living room.”
Drew moved the pillows on the couch around, putting one at the end for my head, then pointed. “Lie down.”
He stood until I got myself comfortable. Then he lifted my legs and set my feet across his lap. “You ticklish?”
“Are you going to make it a challenge if I tell you I’m not?”
He flashed me a crooked smile. “No. I was going to rub your feet.”
I smiled and lifted one of my feet in the air, offering it to him. “I’m not ticklish. But when you admit that to people, they find it necessary to dig their fingers into your ribs until you bruise trying to prove you’re wrong.”
Drew took my foot and began to rub. His fingers were strong, and when he took his thumbs and deftly rubbed at a spot on the ball of my foot—the spot where my heels placed most of my body weight—I let out a little mewl.
“Good?”
“Better than good,” I sighed.
After a few minutes of his rubbing, my entire body relaxed, and Drew started to speak in a low voice. “Beck was five years old when he got into an accident with my ex-wife.”
Oh, God.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Drew’s brow furrowed, and then he quickly seemed to realize what I thought. “Oh, shit. No. I didn’t mean to make you think…he’s fine. Beck’s fine.”
My hand went to my chest. “Jesus. You scared the crap out of me. I thought…”
“Yeah. I realize that now. Sorry. He’s fine. It was scary for a while after the accident, but now you wouldn’t even know he went through three surgeries.”
“Three surgeries? What happened to him?”
“A delivery van creamed Alexa’s car, and it crumpled into a V around the van.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Beck’s booster seat and part of the car door cut into his side, lacerating his kidney. Surgeons tried to repair it, but because of the location and size of the tear, they had to remove part of it. The day of his accident he had a partial nephrectomy on his left kidney.”
“Wow. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” He took a minute and then continued. “While he was in surgery, the nurses offered to have us donate blood. I felt helpless, and I wanted to do whatever I could.”
“Of course.”
“Anyway, they ran a type and cross match blood test on both me and Alexa to see if we were a match to donate and store blood for Beck. Turned out neither of us was.”
“I didn’t realize two parents could have a child they couldn’t donate blood to?”