A Reunion And A Ring (Proposals & Promises Book 1) by Gina Wilkins Page B

when I jokingly said that I needed to crawl into a cave or something for a few days to think and get organized and she said maybe I should find a nice, secluded mountain cabin. This place popped into my head and I did an impulsive internet search and...well, here we are.”
    “Here we are.”
    She twisted her fingers in her lap. “It’s nice that we can be...”
Friends
didn’t seem to be quite the right word. She quickly substituted, “ C ivil.”
    “Why wouldn’t we be civil? We dated as kids. We went our own ways. It’s been—what, a decade or so? Life’s gone on, for both of us.”
    It had been ten years and two months since they broke up. Not that there was any reason to get that specific, but she couldn’t help wondering if he, too, remembered the exact date. Still, as he said, they’d been very young. A lot had happened since for her, and certainly for him, too. She was in a relationship, and for all she knew, he could be, too. Neither had been pining for the other all these years. There was no reason at all they couldn’t be...well, friendly. She couldn’t see them hanging out as buddies. Not because of any difference in social status, but because she suspected there would always be undercurrents between them that made their interactions too potentially volatile.
    As if to reinforce that thought, Gavin pushed away from the wall with a bit more force than necessary. “I’ll be right back.”
    Jenny was torn between enjoying the sound of the rainfall on the porch roof and being impatient for the rain to end so they could get back to clearing the road. She glanced behind her. Gavin had left the door ajar, probably to allow fresh air into the stuffy rooms. It was quiet inside the dim cabin. She didn’t hear him moving around at all.
    Curious, she stood and walked inside, leaving her muddy shoes on the doorstep beside his boots. She had just moved farther into the room when she heard a heavy thud and a heated curse from Gavin’s bedroom.
    Tentatively, she headed that way. “Gavin? Are you all right?”
    His bedroom door was open. Shirtless, he stood in front of the dresser mirror, an open first aid kit in front of him, the bandage on his shoulder hanging crookedly. A plastic bottle of isopropyl alcohol lay on the wood floor beside his feet; fortunately, the lid was still on so it hadn’t spilled.
    “Do you want some help changing that bandage?” she asked, deliberately offhanded. “I’m sure it’s a little hard to do with your left hand.”
    “I’ve managed before. Just knocked the bottle off the dresser with my elbow. I usually change the bandage in the bathroom, but the light’s somewhat better in here.”
    “I didn’t say you couldn’t do it yourself. I said I’m here to give you a hand, if you’d like. If you’d rather handle it yourself, fine.”
    After only a momentary hesitation, he nodded. “It would be faster if you help. Uh, thanks.”
    Because she knew what it probably cost him to accept assistance from her—from anyone, really, being such a fiercely independent sort—she wasn’t bothered by his somewhat less than gracious acceptance. “Maybe you should sit down so I can reach it better. Does it need to be cleaned? Should I bring a washcloth?”
    “It’s not dirty. The bandage was wet and uncomfortable, so I thought I should swap it for a dry one.”
    “Makes sense.” She reached for the half-removed bandage and eased it away from his injury. With an effort s he kept her expression impassive when she saw the jagged, six-inch row of close-set stitches that marched across his shoulder. The skin around the threads was puckered, but the redness didn’t seem to be spreading and his shoulder wasn’t hot to her touch, so the meds must be working.
    “Are you supposed to put antibiotic ointment on the stitches?”
    Sitting on the end of the bed, he nodded toward a tube on the dresser. “Just a little. Only reason I wear the bandage is to keep my shirt from rubbing the