His hands tightened on her waist a moment before he blinked and released her. He cleared his throat, the sound loud in the silence. He seemed unable to make eye contact now. “We should, ah, get you off your feet.”

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “Right.”

He led her to the chair and pulled the bucket close, then went to fetch her crutches. She propped her foot and willed her heart to resume its normal pace.

*  *  *

The back of Aiden’s neck prickled, and his hand was unsteady as he worked the roller. The last few minutes played back in a surreal blend of torture and pleasure.

Sophie’s expression when he’d told her he wanted to be here, when he touched her cheek. The want in her eyes—and he was certain he hadn’t mistaken the look. He’d seen it enough in the months they’d dated. In the golden porch light while they glided on the swing, in the darkness of his car after a date, in the lamplight of his living room after his dad retired early.

One more second of insanity, and he would’ve taken those lips and reminded her of what they’d shared. But in an instant he remembered how he hurt her before. How their lives were in two different places now. How there was a woman at home expecting to become his girlfriend soon.

He shouldn’t start something he couldn’t finish. That wouldn’t be fair to Sophie. It wouldn’t be fair to him, and it wouldn’t be fair to Tiffany either.

But, heaven’s mercy, how he’d wanted that kiss.

There was a shuffling sound behind him. Movement from the corner of his eyes told him Sophie had sat still long enough. She lowered herself to the floor near the adjacent wall and began cutting in paint. Suggesting she rest would be a waste of breath.

“What time do you think the awards will be given out?” she asked.

He released a heavy breath at the mundane topic. “After the dinner, I guess. Probably around seven. Ross will text me when they announce the winner.”

“Why don’t you have him FaceTime so you can hear it live?”

He gave a wry laugh. “I’m not sure I want to hear it live. Besides, we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

“It’ll take all of three minutes.” The brushing stopped. “Come on, let’s do it. Please? It’s the next best thing to being there.”

If he won the award she’d hear his acceptance speech, and he hadn’t really planned for that. But he wouldn’t win—and he didn’t exactly relish the thought of Sophie witnessing his failure. It sounded like a lose/lose proposition to him.

But how could he deny her anything when she looked at him, eyes sparkling with hope and excitement?