Page 151 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

I finished fastening the strap. “I’m ready.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” I nodded, and this time she believed me enough to continue. She moved, and I stood. The first step hurt like it had been the last couple days. Hannah watched from the side while I crossed between the parallel bars. I’d done this thousands of times, and yet it never felt any easier when you knew someone was watching everything to find the fault and problems.

Five years ago, I’d needed both hands wrapped around these bars just to move six feet.

Today I walked without touching them.

“Again.”

I turned. The mirror caught me from the front. Most people hated mirrors because they showed too much. Physical therapy mirrors existed specifically to expose everything you were doing wrong.

I watched my shoulders then my hips and my stride, and saw exactly what Beau kept noticing.

You’ve been limping for twenty minutes.

The thought came before I could stop it.

My chest tightened.

Hannah noticed immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

She waited. I hated everyone who had learned that trick. “Someone noticed that I don’t walk normally.”

“Your limp?”

I nodded.

“That isn’t catastrophic.” She knew that I liked to keep my prosthetic hidden, we’d spoken about it at length, and she’d suggested therapists to help me overcome the fear, but they never helped erase the fear that lingered.

I tapped the bars caging me in. “I know.”

“Do you?”

I looked at her. “He doesn’t know about my leg.”

Understanding changed her expression. “Is he important?”

“I didn’t want him to be, but he’s creeping into my heart.”

Hannah knew enough about my history not to ask why.

“I’ve known him for like two weeks.”

“Okay.”

“We went on one date.”

“I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

“Everyone says that right before telling me what to do.” I glanced sideways at her.

“Then I’ll surprise you.”

I walked again. The irritated skin made me shorten my stride unconsciously, and I corrected it. “He’s going to know eventually.” The admission left before I could stop it.