Page 39 of Unraveled

“Not sure you should say no. You have a picture of him?”

“I do.” I scrolled through my phone to find one taken the day we’d toured Seattle. We were both smiling for the selfie. Just seeing his face made me miss it. But it also reminded me that I was no longer the same confident woman who was smiling with him in the photo.

Patty’s gaze observed me, as if she guessed how bringing up his picture had affected my thoughts about seeing him in person.

“Good-looking fellow. Bet he’s anxious to see you.”

He certainly acted like he was. But I was indecisive. Now, in my plastic shower shirt about to wash for the first time after surgery, I had no desire for him see me this way. Maybe in a few weeks—or perhaps months—I would be.

“Tell you what. Let’s get your hair washed and your makeup on, and you can decide. It’ll do wonders to feel clean again.”

Maybe she was right.

Thirty minutes later, I was finally clean. By then, I’d lost all modesty about having a stranger wash my hair while seeing me naked. I’d also exhausted myself completely with something as simple as a shower.

Patty finished wrapping my chest with a fresh bandage while I refused to glance down. “I can dry your hair, do your makeup.”

I waved her off. She’d already gone above and beyond. Or maybe she was simply doing her job, and damn, she did a hell of one, all right. “No, it’s okay. You’ve done far more than I could’ve ever expected.”

She grabbed my brush and moved behind me to comb through my hair. “Do you know why I became a nurse and took this job?”

She didn’t wait for me to respond.

“It was because after I had cancer, I wished to dedicate my life toward helping others get through it. I was a hair dresser and esthetician before that. Still good with a round brush, by the way, if you want me to blow out your hair.”

For a person like me who’d always prided myself on independence, it was tough to accept help. “Are you certain you don’t mind?”

“Honey, I leave here with you feeling pretty and calling that man of yours over for sushi, and I’ll feel like I’ve won the lottery. It gives me purpose. Cancer might be the biggest enemy, but after losing your breasts and enduring treatments, self-doubt becomes the killer of hope. And hope is what will get you through even while your body is letting you down.”

There was that four-letter word again. Hope. Such a simple concept, but it caused hurtful consequences when it wasn’t enough. But as much as I wanted to crawl under the covers, binge episodes of Stranger Things, and throw a pity party, would I give cancer that power? No. Not today.

“Thanks, Patty.”

I picked up my phone and texted him back the address to my apartment. Before I could change my mind.

Chapter Twelve

Layla

Nerves hit me like a freight train when I heard the knock on my apartment door. I was very anxious about seeing Kellan. Things had been so easy between us last week, but I knew how awkward it would be now that the big C was out of the bag. Instead of merely invading my body, cancer was taking over my life, spreading into every conversation, thought, or touch.

Had Kellan handled it well thus far? Yes, but this was simply the beginning of a long road. I couldn’t forget that he hardly knew me. We’d had a few days of fun, not all of this serious stuff.

At least Patty had done an amazing job with my hair, and I’d gone ahead and applied my makeup. I felt somewhat back to myself.

I opened the door to his gorgeous face. Not for the first time, I wished the circumstances could be different. That we could be back in the hotel room our first night together where I was pretending I wasn’t sick, and he still thought I was sexy.

He stepped through the entry without hesitation, put the large plastic bag he’d been holding on the floor, and shut the door. Then he framed my face and went in for a kiss.

I stood there stunned until his warm lips demanded I participate. His tongue swept mine while he stole my breath with a kiss that rocked my very world.

Pulling back, he kept one hand on the side of my face in an intimate gesture. “Hi.”

The normal response would’ve been to say hi back or grin silly at being kissed like that. Instead, a tear broke free. I could see the instant he spotted it, concern replacing the initial happiness in his expression.

“Hey, now. There’s no crying in kissing. If so, then I’m probably not doing it right.” He rubbed his thumb across my cheek to catch the drop.

“No. You’re doing everything right. It’s me who’s the problem,” I whispered.