Page 61 of Her Hidden Smile

“Yep, Roan Thatcher. All three of us were worried about you, so that meant that Simon’s wife Trenda was worried about you, and so was Lisa. Hell, everyone has been. Little Grandma, Lisa, Trenda, and Bella all want to come over and make sure you’re doing okay.”

She looked both shocked and horrified. “But why?”

“Because they care,” I said softly. I put the remote on the coffee table, and put my arm around her.

“But not all together, right?”

“No, baby, not all together.”

She gave out a relieved sigh.

“Millie, have you thought about going out with me? Maybe going to Little Grandma’s diner? We could do it before they open up, or after they’ve closed. It would just be her family, you, and me. What do you think?”

This time there was no shock in the look she gave me, just horror. “I can’t do that, Renzo. Do you know how big it is that I’ve let you and Lisa come and visit me this year? For years, it’s only been Little Grandma and her family.”

“What about your check-ups? Haven’t you had to go in for additional surgeries?”

She bent her head. “You saw the grafts?” she asked softly.

I kissed her forehead. “Yes.”

“Aunt Marge would give me a sedative before I went to the hospital. I’m weak, Renzo. I’m weak.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

Her head shot up and through a sheen of tears she scowled at me. “Why are you laughing at me?” she demanded to know.

“Is this the same ballbuster who demanded millions from good ole Chuck at Luxton?”

“That is not the same thing at all,” she spit out. “That’s my job. What’s more, I don’t have to leave my house, now do I?” she challenged as she scrambled out of my grasp and off the couch. I smothered my smile as she slammed her fists onto her hips and glared down at me.

“Are you still laughing at me?” She leaned over and poked a finger in my chest.

“Maybe.”

“Well stop. This isn’t a laughing matter.”

I tugged her back down onto the couch. “Calm down, Cariña. I didn’t mean to start a fight. I just was making a suggestion.”

“It was a stupid suggestion,” she mumbled.

“All right,” I agreed.

“Almost as stupid as calling soccer football.”

“Blasphemy.” I pulled her onto my lap and aimed my fingers for her ribs. She shrieked with laughter as I continued to tickle her. “Admit it, you love soccer.”

“I…I…I…” she kept laughing, and I kept tickling.

“Admit it.”

She squirmed away. “I might love how their silky shorts show off their butts and legs.”

I roared with laughter.

Was it only four months ago that this woman could barely bear touching me when she handed me the keys to the cherry pickers?

“Come here, Cariña. You deserve a punishment for that.”