Page 40 of Unraveled

“How’s that possible?”

“I—I didn’t want to see you because I’d convinced myself it would be painfully awkward. Then you come in and kiss me like I don’t have cancer.”

I’d convinced myself he would no longer see me as the same person. That somehow I was now damaged goods and would no longer be attractive to him.

“In a few months that will be a true statement, but until that point, you having cancer doesn’t change how beautiful you are, how much I missed you, or how I couldn’t wait to kiss you again.”

Jesus. I was about to cry harder if he kept saying things like that. “I don’t know how you always manage to say the perfect thing, but I’m sorry I waited to see you.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m here now. With sushi.” He bent down and picked up the bag. “You hungry?”

“Yeah. I am, actually.”

He walked into the kitchen with the bag he’d brought. I loved the way he made himself at home. It made me forget for a moment I wasn’t standing there after a double mastectomy, struggling with my self-worth.

He searched the cabinets before pulling down a couple plates. “Is this your stuff, or is it a furnished apartment?”

I took a seat on one of the two stools at the breakfast bar so I could face him. “Furnished. Most of my stuff is in boxes in a storage facility outside of LA.”

“This place is ideally close to the hospital. Russ mentioned you have a nurse checking in on you?”

I appreciated the way this conversation didn’t seem awkward in the least. Even when it revolved around the subject of my recovery. “Yes. Patty is awesome. She went through breast cancer, too. Fourteen years ago.”

“I bet it’s nice to have someone to talk to who’s been through it. How badly is your mom bugging you?”

I watched him parse out what looked to be tuna, salmon, and rainbow rolls. “She’s insisting on dinner Sunday night as it’s the eve before I start chemo, but I’ve convinced her Saturday is better. I’ve been told to avoid foods I love the night and morning of chemo because of the nausea. Otherwise I’ll forever be associating them with the sick feeling.”

“Good way to cut some things out of your diet, huh?”

“Probably. I’m already giving up alcohol, caffeine, and processed sugar. I’m still working on the last one.”

He frowned. “My candy bar bouquet did you no favors. Sorry.”

I shook my head. “Don’t be. It was one of the few pleasures about the hospital.”

“I read that chemo does a number on your taste buds.”

My gaze met his, and I realized what his statement actually meant. “You were reading up on it?”

He sighed, pushing a plate full of delicious sushi toward me. “Do you prefer to eat here, or are you more comfortable on the sofa?”

He seemed anxious to change the subject. “Sofa would be better.” I needed back support, and the stool wasn’t giving it to me.

“You get comfortable, and I’ll serve.”

I sat down and got situated while he placed a pillow next to me and then put the plate on top of it. My whole body suddenly felt tense. Taking a breath, I tried to figure out why—then it hit me. He’d talked to my brother about my nurse. He’d read up on my type of cancer. I braced myself for the inevitable unsolicited advice or the assumptions about how I should feel.

“What would you like to drink?”

“Water is good, thank you.”

He sat down, putting the glass on a coaster to my side, leveling me with a look. “I read up on it because I want to learn more about it, not because I plan to start modern jackassing your treatment or decisions. I hope you believe that.”

“What in the world is modern jackassing?”

His grin was adorable. “The guy who decides he’s an expert on something because he read an article. You’ve met the type. You’re talking about chain-link fencing, and all of a sudden this guy jumps in as the resident expert. What I’m saying is I’m not researching for any other reason than to try to get a clue as to what’s in store for you. Knowledge makes me less anxious about it, I guess.”

“Thank you,” I murmured. Taking a bite of sushi, I enjoyed the flavors that hit my tongue and relaxed. Considering how very little I’d talked to him about my cancer, I couldn’t blame him for feeling the need to do some reading. “I didn’t mean to get weird, but after my mom started telling me about reading up on urine therapy…Suffice it to say the Web can be a dangerous place.”