Page 58 of Secrets in the Deep

Quickly, he changed out of his wet T-shirt and into a dry one.

Once he was downstairs again, he tidied the living room. It wasn’t really dirty, but for some damn reason, it didn’t feel clean enough for Emily.

He’d just finished putting the Chinese onto two plates when soft footsteps padded down the stairs.

He looked up—and Jesus fucking Christ, but the sight of her in his sweatshirt…inonlyhis sweatshirt, wet hair falling around her shoulders, cheeks pink from the shower…it all felt like a physical blow.

She looked down. “It’s a bit big.”

“It’s perfect.”

Her eyes peeked up at him, and when she looked at the plates, there was the smallest wrinkle of her nose before her expression cleared.

“Not hungry?” he asked.

“Not really. I ate at the restaurant.”

“What about ice cream?”

She stopped at the kitchen island and curled her fingers over the edge. “What kind of ice cream?”

“Rocky road.”

“You don’t have rocky road. You hate that flavor.”

He crossed to the freezer and took out the tub.

Her eyes widened. “Youdohave that flavor. How?”

“Maybe it grew on me over the years.” Or maybe he’d bought the pint and stashed it in his freezer, simply because it reminded him of her.

Fuck, he was a sad bastard.

He removed the lid, stuck a spoon inside, and handed it over. “It’s better straight from the tub, right?”

Her lips twitched, and she took the tub. “Thank you. And thank you for letting me shower and…just be here. But if I’m going to stay and eat ice cream on your couch, I need to request something.”

“Anything.” It wasn’t a lie. Having the only woman he’d ever loved standing in his home, wearing his sweatshirt? He would agree to anything.

“I don’t want to talk about the past. Not the day we broke up, or my mother, or my car crash. I just want to not think about any of that right now.”

They had so much shit to work through. But, yeah…one night of not thinking about any of that shit? He could do it. “Deal.”

Emily tracedthe flecks of black in Ryan’s chocolate-brown eyes.

She was smiling. A real, rare smile that actually reached her eyes and made the corners crinkle. “You’re telling me that Joel, big bad former SEAL who’s dispatched more bad guys than most Secret Service agents, couldn’t rehome thiscat?” she asked, from her side of the couch.

“He claims it couldn’t be done. We all know he’s just a closet softie.”

She chuckled. “I mean, you’re a closet gardener, so I’d argue you’re just as bad.”

His brow wrinkled. “A closet gardener?”

“Don’t pretend you’re not. I saw fresh fertilizer on that lawn, and those flowers look too healthy to be neglected.”

For the first time since sitting on the couch, some of the ease left his eyes. “I couldn’t let your favorite flowers die.”

Her favorite flower…he remembered. That should not make her heart thump the way it did. “A month ago, you didn’t know I’d ever be here to see it.”