Patchworked Hearts {SAMPLE}

Chapter 7

"Holy wow," Helen breathed when they exited the humane society three hours later.

Pat came to a stop right behind her, close enough to where she could feel the heat of his body, and chuckled huskily. "Yeah. I had an excitable volunteer when I got Gilligan, but that kid had nothing on this one."

"I wonder how much Red Bull she drinks each morning?" Helen mused aloud, letting Pat set a large palm against the small of her back and direct her out to the parking lot.

"Maybe she just loves helping people."

Helen halted and peered up at him skeptically; Pat caught the look and his grin widened. "Alright," he agreed, "fair enough. Probably three cans."

"At least," Helen grumbled as they started walking once more. She felt emotionally drained, but also excited. It had taken an hour and fifteen other cats before she found a four-year-old female that she'd fallen in love with; the cat had a friendly temperament, enjoyed cuddles (according to Britt), and was a light orange tabby perfectly befitting of the name Ginger.

But after finding her Ginger, there had been two more hours of paperwork and chit-chat (thanks to Britt) before Helen had been assured that after a vet checkup, she would be able to pick Ginger up and take her home on Monday.

So, it had been a successful day that would hopefully produce a wonderful companion to help ease the earth-shattering loneliness that would find her the second Addy moved out.

Well, when you put it that way . . .

She was dragged from her depressing thoughts when Pat dropped his hand from her back and opened her door for her; the action brought her to another topic that had been on her mind.

Throughout the day, Patterson had been almost affectionate—like a boyfriend or husband—by putting his hand on her back or hip and leaning down to brush her ear with his lips as he spoke to her, and Helen was more than a little confused. Not that she didn't love his attention, of course—she just didn't know how to decipher it.

On one hand, she really hoped things kept progressing. She still needed to learn a lot about Pat, but she'd be lying if she said she'd never considered what it would be like to date the man. Helen had only been in a few short-lived relationships since the accident, as it was surprisingly hard to fall for someone when you refused to get in a car with them, but she'd known Pat for three months and found no issues with him.

He was intelligent and quick-witted but also empathetic and patient with her.

It didn't hurt that he was painfully attractive, either. Since their outing today marked the first time she'd ever seen him outside a car, she'd been surprised (in a good way) by his height; she'd known he was tall even when sitting in a car, but it was still a shock when she had to crane her head back to eye him properly.

A car door closed, and Helen turned to watch as Pat eased himself into the driver's seat, his face twisting into a light grimace as he did so.

That was another thing she'd learned.

During their search for a cat, Helen had realized that Patterson possessed an obvious limp. It had grown worse the longer they walked around, but Helen hadn't mentioned it—nor did she intend to.

Patterson, however, seemed to have a different plan. The moment he was inside the car and starting it up, he ran his hands over the steering wheel, pursed his lips, and asked, "How come you haven't brought it up yet?"

She couldn't decide if his jaw was tense because it was something he hated talking about or because he was worried that she was silently judging him. Regardless, Helen knew playing dumb wasn't the way to go. "I didn't think it was an appropriate time," she told him honestly, catching his gaze with hers so he could see the openness in her eyes. "Besides, we all have something, right? I know you're not stupid, Pat; you are perfectly aware that I am not as put-together as I seem."