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“I’ll eat anything, surprise me,” my words mumbling out as his nearness clouds my brain.
“Sounds good.” He nods his head, then walks toward the front door.
“Hey, Ash . . .” he stalls and glances back at me. “Thank you.” I’m rewarded with a fleeting smile and then he’s gone.
Standing by myself, my ears pick up the music, and my body picks up the pain in my arm. Momentarily I had forgotten about it, and I’m suddenly even more thankful he’s off to get the medicine.
Part of me wonders if this break might just be a blessing in disguise. I know I should head back to the city to have my wrist looked at by someone more renowned, but I saw the x-ray and it looks pretty small and clean. Laughing to myself, I think staying here a little while longer suddenly sounds like the best form of medicine.
IT DOESN’T TAKE me long to run the errands. I know I’m rushing around like a mad man, but who wouldn’t, knowing what’s waiting for them back at home? My hands are sweating as I pull the grocery bags from the back seat. Slamming the truck door, Whiskey comes running out to escort me inside.
She’s in my house.
My house.
And I’m nervous.
Why am I nervous? I feel stupid for being nervous. It’s not like I haven’t been alone with a girl before. Maybe it’s because I haven’t really been alone with this girl before. This girl who after two and half days has somehow managed to embed herself under my skin and in my heart.
Shit.
I don’t even know why, I just know that around her everything seems so much brighter, easy, hopeful, and that’s such a sharp contrast to when I first got here, eight weeks ago. Yes, she’s quiet and mysterious, but there’s something about her that feels familiar and it sets off sparks in my soul. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is, but I’m determined to find out.
The front door opens, and there she is. My heart skips in my chest. She’s showered, changed, and my eyes drink her in from head to toe. Her hair is down and the curls blow across her face from the backdraft of the door. Her eyes are clearer than before, and now she’s wearing what look like pajamas—a long-sleeved t-shirt and flannel pants. She looks amazing, and to me, like she belongs here—in this house, with me.
Tank runs out and starts barking, but backs away the closer I get to the door. Dog is cute; it definitely suits her.
“How are you feeling?” I ask as she scoots to the side to let me pass. Strawberries hit my nose and I pause to look down at her. Her eyes widen, she bites her bottom lip, and then sucks in some air like she’s forgotten to breathe. Do I make her nervous too? Hell yeah! I hope so, but only nervous in a good way.
“Okay, I guess. I have a headache and my arm hurts; I’m so ready for that pain medicine.” My brief moment of joy evaporates. I hate that she’s in pain. Guilt assaults me. Maybe I should have brought the medicine back to her before going for groceries.
“I’m sorry I took so long.” She follows me into the kitchen and I set the bags on the counter.
“Oh, you didn’t. That’s not what I meant.” She blushes. “Thank you for getting it for me; I appreciate you helping me.” She gives me a small reassuring smile as I hand her the bag.
“Anything, you just let me know, and I’ll get it for you.” And I would. I would drive around the world if she needed me to.
Her smile grows bigger and my heart stutters. Damn, this girl makes me feel funny things.
Blinking, I shake my head and turn back toward the food. “So, I thought I’d make us spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. You know, pasta, comfort food—I’m thinking we can’t really go wrong.” My eyebrows raise with a hopeful expression.
She giggles and climbs up onto a bar stool next to me. “Sounds perfect.”
I grin back at her in relief. “The doctor’s office called; they can squeeze you in at eleven tomorrow,” I say as I move around the kitchen to pull out the necessary pots and pans.
Her bright smile falls a little. “That’s good. I’ll go ahead and book my flight for Wednesday then.” Her voice is timid, unsure. I’m really hoping it’s because she wants to stay longer and not because she dreads getting the cast.
“I’m paying for your flight.” There’s no way I’m letting her do this. Last minute too; it’s not going to be cheap.
She sits up a little straighter, takes a sip of her water, and licks her lips. “You don’t have to do that.”
My eyes narrow and lock on to hers. “Yes, I do.” My tone is a little sharper than it probably should be, but she needs to know this isn’t up for discussion.
A moment of silence passes between us as she stares at me with a blank expression. “Okay. Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. This is all my fault.” I dump the ingredients for the meatballs into a bowl and start smooshing them together.
“Not really,” she draws out and her eyes skip over to Whiskey, lying on his bed chewing a toy.
