Mentally, I put myself back in the room. I’d been standing about twenty feet away from Nick when I’d knocked down the entire rack of dumbbells. Huh. I listened to the birds chirping while I drank in the scent of the sweet citrus blooms. The truth was inescapable, and the fact of the matter was there was simply no way Nick could have reached me if he didn’t have the use of his legs, but I had seen his left leg all lax and dragging like it was broken. So what exactly was wrong with my landlord? Not my business. Still, I had to know.

The back door was still ajar, and I entered, scanning the house for Sir. I had a sudden need for a hug. He was curled up on the red throw right where I’d left him. I picked him up and he must have sensed my distress because he purred and rubbed the top of his head against my chin. I felt instantly better and hoped that in light of what had happened, Nick didn’t change his mind about letting me keep my furry friend.

I didn’t sleep well that night. An intense pair of hazel eyes dominated my dreams. An image of Nick driving us somewhere, a formal event with him in a tuxedo and me in a gown, and we were laughing. I was happy. And then crash.

I jolted awake, sweaty and panicked with my heart racing in my chest and Nick’s name on my lips. I knew it was my unconscious trying to figure out what had happened to Nick Daire. Sure, I knew it wasn’t my concern, but that had never stopped me from trying to help a person in need before, and I doubted it would do so now.

Of course, it’s a lot easier to help a person who actually wants you to help them rather than a person who is closed off in his house. A person who refuses to acknowledge your existence even when you stand in the middle of your back patio for hours on end with your new easel and canvas, painting the black-and-white cat sprawled on the limb of a lemon tree, looking very much like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland, except being more formal with his tuxedo coloring.

Yes, even Sir making himself at home on the grounds of Daire’s estate could not draw the man out. He didn’t even send one of the Guzmans or Jackson to deliver a note or to speak to me on his behalf. I wondered if I should turn it around and send him a note. If so, what would it say?