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soothing my embarrassment. “You don’t need to be sorry. If anything, I should apologize for bullying you into coming out tonight. And I picked the worst possible restaurant. We should have left the minute I saw how crowded it was.”
    “I feel like a fool.”
    “Don’t,” he said simply. “There’s no reason.”
    His easy acceptance of my neurosis only made me feel worse. “I’ll pay you back for the wine, and whatever else was on the bill.”
    He waved his hand at me. “Don’t worry about it.” He gestured down the street, toward the Light District. “There’s another place we can go. Nothing fancy, but it won’t be crowded like that Greek place. It’s called the Vibe. Do you know it?”
    “No.” I didn’t know any of the places in town that didn’t deliver.
    “It’s sort of an aging-hippy sandwich joint. Sometimes they have live music in the back. We can walk down there and check it out, and if you don’t like it, we’ll take the sandwiches to go, okay?”
    I could have hugged him for making it so easy on me. “Okay.”
    But instead of turning to lead me away from the car, he took a step closer to me. “First things first, though.” He reached up and pushed my coat off my shoulders.
    “What are you doing? I’ll freeze without my coat.”
    “I know.” He pulled it free and tossed it onto the hood of his car. “You’ll get it back.” Then, to my surprise, he began to unbutton my shirt.
    “What are you doing?”
    “What we should have done before we left the house.”
    He finished with the buttons and pushed the shirt off my shoulders. I wore a T-shirt underneath it, under the straps that held my arm in place, but it still felt strange to have him remove my shirt. “Undressing me?” I asked. My voice shook. I was painfully aware of how close he stood. Of how good he smelled. Of the gentleness of his hands as he helped me remove my prosthetic from the sleeve. He left my shirt on the hood of his car, just as he’d done with my jacket.
    He reached for the buckle on my right shoulder. “Getting rid of this.”
    I blushed, but I stood still as he undid the strap. He was close enough I could easily have kissed him if I’d dared. He finished the first buckle and began to undo the one on the other side. “I feel silly,” I said. Silly and ridiculously aroused, but I opted to keep that latter bit to myself.
    “Why?”
    “I just do.”
    “Well, stop.” He pushed the straps off my shoulders and reached for my arm, but I pulled back, thinking of the wrapping underneath, of the sweat and the way my skin was always red and inflamed after wearing the prosthetic.
    “Don’t. You don’t want to do that.”
    “I’ve done it a hundred times for my sister.” He laughed. “Probably more. Anyway, I’m a doctor, remember?”
    “I’m not a dog.”
    “I’m aware of that fact,” he said. And then his laughter seemed to fall away and he added, in a quieter voice, “Excruciatingly aware.”
    I wasn’t sure how to take that. I wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or an insult or neither. I stood speechless and confused as he carefully released my arm from my prosthetic. He turned away from me to unlock his car, and while he did, I pulled off the rubber sleeve that fit over my stump. He took that from me too and tossed it like a discarded sock into the back seat of his SUV with my arm. I stood there shivering, watching him, wondering about his sudden change in mood. Wondering if he knew how intimate the last few minutes had felt to me. If he did, he gave no indication. He smiled at me. “Aren’t you freezing?”
    “As a matter of fact, I am.” He waited while I put my shirt back on and rolled my left sleeve up to the base of my stump so it wouldn’t flap loose while I walked.
    “Do you want me to do the other side to match?” he asked. Blunt and honest, yet practical, since I couldn’t roll it up myself.
    “No. I’m warmer like this.”
    Once I had my coat back on, with the left