"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."
His expression shifted into the one she loved—a gentle smile and bright eyes—and his spine relaxed until he was leaning back in his seat, still watching her closely. "I suppose we all have something," he returned easily, reaching up one hand to scratch at his stubbled jaw thoughtfully. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours?"
Helen bit back a sudden rushing of panic.
It's Pat, she reminded herself fervently. Just Pat.
"Not today," she decided, glad when he didn't seem hurt. "But . . . someday." Yes, someday. If this relationship went where she hoped, then it would be appropriate to share more of herself with him. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't curious about his own backstory, but if he could wait for hers, then she could wait for his.
"I can do 'someday,'" he nodded, his smile turning crooked and adorable. "'Someday' it is, Helena. Now, dinner?"
Hoping she didn't look too lovestruck, Helen nodded keenly.
"Dinner."
***
They both liked pepperoni on their pizza, which was perfect since picking up a pizza was all either one of them was willing to do.
It smelled amazing, too, and Helen couldn't wait to eat it.
"If you keep looking at it like that," Pat teased, his voice coated with humor, "it's going to run away."
Helen pulled a classic five-year-old move and stuck her tongue out at him over the pizza box she was clutching in her hands. "Hush, Patterson, and let me smell my meal."
"And here I thought that I paid for it." Pat rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he led her up the small flight of stairs and to the front door of his home.
Helen hadn't previously put much thought into where he lived, but a quant, two-story house just outside the city with a limited number of neighbors seemed more than fitting for the man. It was painted a dusty gray, with black shutters and a bright red door that made Helen grin.
"I like the pop of color," she announced as he unlocked the front door.
Pushing it open, he shook his head at her. "Courtesy of the sisters, but thank you." He stepped aside and took the pizza from her before gesturing her into the house with his chin.
Sucking in a steadying breath, she reminded herself not to have a teenage-girl-squealing-over-her-crush meltdown and then stepped across the threshold and—
Bent over with laughter.
She hadn't even seen the interior of the house, since her eyes immediately went to the stairs that rested several feet from the door. It wasn't the stairs themselves that had caught her off-guard though; rather, it was the absolutely massive cat settled on the bottom step that sent her into hysterics.
Helen's chortles only grew worse when the dark tabby hopped off the steps and wandered straight to her, his belly swinging with each step. He nuzzled up right against her, and she crouched down to pet him even as her giggles persisted.
"I should be upset, probably," Pat mused as he walked by her and down the hall towards what she assumed was the kitchen, "but I sometimes have the same reaction."
"He's so sweet!" Helen cooed, scratching the cat under his chin and grinning when he nuzzled her knee eagerly. "Can we introduce him to Ginger?"
Pat's voice was muffled from his new location, but she still heard the twinging of amusement in his words when he called back, "You don't even actually have her yet, and you're trying to set her up on a date with my cat?"
She huffed dramatically, knowing he would hear it, before patting Gilligan one last time and standing to follow Pat. Gilligan trailed after her, and she couldn't wipe off her amused smile when his stubby legs had to work extra hard to keep pace with her.
Reaching the end of the hall, she came to a stop in front of a decent living room, complete with high ceilings and a sliding glass door that led out to a back porch. A glance to the right showed three closed doors, but she could make out half a kitchen table behind the wall on her left, so she used her common sense and went that way.
Sure enough, a small, open-concept kitchen greeted her, along with Pat's back as he dug through one of the cabinets. "I like your place," she told him honestly, tracing her fingers over the dark countertops. Although the kitchen (and rest of the house, she was guessing) was made of neutral tones—white cabinets, dark floors, gray backsplash, white walls—it was decorated with bright pops of color and homey pieces.
Funny signs like I can cook—haven't you tasted my cereal? and pictures of Pat with his family or Gilligan covered the walls, and there were even several plants scattered across the windowsill above the sink.
A large TV was hanging on the wall in the living room, and both sides were flanked by built-in bookshelves, filled with various titles and more pictures. She wanted to step closer and peek at the photos, but restrained herself when Pat turned to her and held up two paper plates with a crooked smile.
"Ready to eat?"
She nodded eagerly, snatching one of the plates before flipping open the pizza box and snagging a piece. Pat did the same, and then gestured for her to sit down at the dark wood table. "Water, alcohol, milk, or root beer?"
"You have root beer?" she raised a bemused brow. "I didn't think you'd be a soda kind of guy."
He chuckled, dropping his plate on the table before heading to the fridge. His limp, she couldn't help but notice, was still quite pronounced. "I'm not, but I keep it in stock for when my sisters are in town—they practically live off the stuff. What'll it be, Helena?"
God, she loved the way he said her name. Even when he was messing with her, there was always a soft lilt to his voice when he spoke the word, as though he was ensuring that—regardless of how out of hand the jokes got—she would always remember that he cared about her.
"Milk, please," she announced once she'd pushed aside the want to do something foolish, like kiss him.
She saw his lips quirk into a smile, and he mumbled something to himself that sounded suspiciously like, "Yeah, I thought so." Two glasses of milk were on the table a minute later, and Pat edged himself into the seat across from her.
"All set, Helena?"
Helen smiled sweetly, hoping her gratitude was obvious. "Always am with you, Pat. Thanks for this."
"Anytime," he replied easily. "Would you be opposed to a quick prayer?"
Helen often said a prayer to herself before meals, but she'd never considered her driver's religion before. It was pretty sad, then, that she found him even more attractive with 'religious' added to his personality. "Not at all. Lead on."
It was a traditional Catholic prayer, and Helen couldn't help but smile softly when he finished and took a large bite of his pizza. "Is your whole family Catholic?" she asked, picking at her own slice.
Pat swallowed and dabbed at his mouth (Oh, wow—he has manners too? Sign me right up.) before responding. "Well, my mom and her parents are devout Catholics, but my dad was raised Baptist, so he and Mom compromised; they go to a non-denominational church right now, along with my sisters."
Helen nodded thoughtfully, delighting in the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of his family. Family was, of course, very important to her, and it was nice to see how seriously Patterson took the concept as well. "Where do they live?"
He lifted a hand and waved it in the air haphazardly. "The older one, Tess, lives four hours south with her husband and their three dogs, but the younger one, Margie, lives near the parents; they're only two hours away."
She tilted her head and pulled apart her crust idly; she appreciated how open Pat was, but she was worried about overstepping.
Pat, to his credit, seemed to realize her hesitation. "Helena," his tone was soft and kind, and she wondered if it was possible to bottle up that warmth and keep it for a cold day. "You know you can talk to me."
Helen peeked up at him through her lashes, touched by his cocked head and the genuineness in his gaze. "I don't want to . . ." she flicked a crumb off her finger. "I don't want to ruin this." Whatever this was.
She was staring resolutely at her hands, which was why she almost flew out of her seat when one of Pat's hands suddenly appeared over her own. "Helena," he intoned, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand, "please look at me."
Obeying, she prayed for strength and lifted her chin; regardless of what he said, it was worth it just to see the sweet smile on his face. "This can't be ruined, alright? We won't let it get ruined, but it can't go anywhere if we're not honest. So, ask away."
"I just," she shifted in her seat, watching as his hand twisted in her own, until his fingers were intertwined with hers. "Do you miss being with them? Your family, I mean."
He squeezed her hand lightly before releasing it (to her dismay) and leaning back in his chair. Rubbing a hand across his stubble, he blew out a breath. "Yes and no," he decided finally.
At her intrigued look, he cracked a grin and continued. "I'm blessed to be in my situation, since they're not all that far from me, first of all.
"That said, when I first left the house and deployed, I missed them almost constantly, unless I was distracted by the job."
That made sense; she nodded in understanding. "And after you left the navy?"
His smile shifted at the mention of the service, until it resembled something bittersweet. "Well, there were a lot of changes after that, and I lived with them for a while during that stage."
"But now?" She didn't quite know why she was so persistent in her questioning, but part of her suspected that she was looking for some sort of gratification for her own feelings.
She missed Cecily almost always; surely Pat missed his family as well?
"Yes and no," he repeated with a half-shrug. "Yes, because there are moments where I wish I could turn the corner and see their faces or hear their voices in real life, rather than over the phone or once every few months. But no, because I enjoy my life and I like having my own space and being independent. And in moments where I'm busy, I often don't even think about them, as horrible as that sounds."
That didn't sound horrible at all. Helen would give anything to forget Cecily's haunting laughter for a moment or two.
Another pause, and then Helen probed, "Will I ever get to meet them, do you think?" Pat was wonderful, and she'd by lying if she said she'd never wondered what his family was like.
An emotion lit Pat's eyes, but it could've been her wishful thinking telling her that it was delight.
"I never told you the other option," he mused, straightening in his seat and returning his hand to her own.
"'Other option?'" She echoed, her brows furrowed in confusion, her head tilted to the right. "For what?"
"For our outing today," his expression was serious, but the light sheen of hopefulness in his gaze kept her from panicking. "You said acquaintances or friends . . ." he trailed off, eyeing her imploringly.
Recognizing the cue, she shifted in her chair and asked softly, "Or . . .?" Her heart was racing by this point.
His lips twitched. "Or would you be interested in furthering this?"
Don't faint, she told herself frantically. You are not allowed to faint.
Trying to maintain a blasé expression, she huffed lightly. "I suppose it depends on what 'this' is."
"Ah," he shook his head with a chuckle. "I should've known I wouldn't get anything past you." He rubbed his hands over his thighs—the only outward sign he was nervous—and ducked his head slightly, capturing her gaze and ensuring she wouldn't look away.
"'This' can be anything you want it to be. Personally, although it sounds juvenile, I was hoping it would become a sort of boyfriend-girlfriend thing."
Holy crap.
"What would happen to us?" She wondered aloud, torn between elation and hesitation.
Did she want to date this man? Hell yes.
But what about their friendship? It was a foolish and cliché train of thought, she knew, but she couldn't help her worry. Not only was Pat a wonderful human and friend; he was the only person Helen trusted to drive. If they tried this and it ended poorly . . . Well, the mere thought of not having Pat's humor and reliability was rather terrifying.
"Hey," his soothing rumble pulled her back to reality, and she was startled to find his face mere inches from her own.
When had he walked around the table? He'd turned her, too, and his kneeling form was eye level with her seated one.
He reached up a single hand to stroke across her features, and she couldn't help but lean into his warm, comforting touch.
"I know why you're scared," he continued, his lips pulled into a concerned frown. "I get it. But you and me? We've been through a lot, so we won't let this end badly. Are you interested in me? Like, seriously interested?"
Helen could practically feel the color as it flooded her cheeks, and she could only hope that it wasn't as obvious as it felt. "Yes," she murmured, her gaze sheepish.
Pat didn't even acknowledge her embarrassment, which she greatly appreciated. Instead, he smiled softly—that gentle, crooked, beautiful smile that she liked to think was just for her. "And I am really, truly, seriously interested in you. So, see? We won't let it end badly." And Helen believed him.
It was Pat, after all, and Pat's confidence and steadiness had never led her astray before.
"We won't let it end badly?" she'd meant for it to be a statement, but it ended up as a question; she was (not for the first time) thankful for Pat's patience.
"No," he reiterated, his stare steadfast. "We won't."
She bobbed her head in a small nod, pleased when Pat didn't move his hand from her cheek. "We won't."
"Glad we agree," he teased quietly, his thumb caressing her skin with utmost care. "May I kiss you now, Helena?"
Holy freaking hell.
Her voice was barely a croak when she replied, "You may."
And then her voice was gone entirely, because Patterson's lips were on hers, and she couldn't focus on anything other than Oh my gosh, they're so soft and warm and can I keep him forever, please?
He pulled away after another beat, and Helen stared at him with wide eyes, watching as his mouth curled into a bright, toothy smile. "May I do that again?"
Pulling out her inner self—the part of her that bickered with Pat, gave killer advice, and interviewed total jackasses—she quirked a grin of her own. "You can do it as much as you want, so long as I get the same liberties."
He tilted his head back and laughed loudly. "Ah, Helena," he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "I think I adore you."
And I think I'm dead now.
Really, if this was what dating the man was like . . .
Well, Helen wouldn't be complaining any time soon.
***
A/N: *squeals*
It's FINALLY HAPPENING, PEOPLE. STAY CALM. DO. NOT. FREAK. OUT.
*Immediately freaks out*
Ah well. I tried.
(No I didn't lol)
A.R.