Fancy meeting you here.” Gilbert adjusted his grip on the crutches he’d barely learned how to maneuver. His artificial leg still chafed—more adjustments to made, obviously—and his stump ached from the pressure. “It’s good to see you, Gil.” As Samuel’s gaze swept Gilbert from head to toe, his nervous smile broadened with a sincerity not even a man of the cloth could fake. “And especially good to see you out of that chair.” “Still practicing, but it’s a start.” Gilbert relished a moment of self-satisfaction before forcing himself to meet Annemarie’s gaze. “You’re both looking well. Out for an afternoon stroll?” “Sam has graciously invited me to lunch.” Annemarie hiked her chin. “We’re celebrating.” Gilbert’s glance slipped to where Annemarie’s fingertips peeked out from beneath Sam’s arm. They stood so close that not even the tiniest glimmer of daylight shone between them, and the sight ripped through Gilbert like machine gun fire.
