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Spinning my upper body toward him, I point at him. “That last one is the most important title.”
He grins at me when he flicks his gaze briefly to mine, taking hold of my hand and rubbing his thumb in slow circles on my palm, eliciting a feeling I want to grab onto with both hands and never let go.
For the rest of the drive to Nate’s we’re both silent, basking in the close proximity and the comfortable atmosphere settling around us. But as he turns onto the road leading to his house, butterflies take flight in my stomach as I start searching all around.
Phoebe is still missing and I’m under no illusion she’ll let things go. She waited six years to do what she did so I’m sure she’ll wait another six to finish the job she started.
He pulls to a stop outside his—our—front door, turning off the engine and getting out of the car, retrieving my wheelchair and putting it up before pushing it over to the passenger side.
Pushing open the door, I look down at the chair while trying to stop my nerves from taking control of me, knowing with the height difference, I won’t be able to get into it safely.
“Can you—”
I don’t finish my sentence as he reaches inside, picking me up like he did at the hospital and placing me gently in the chair. This time I adjust my legs and when I spin the chair around, my eyes soak in the small ramp he’s installed in front of the house.
Swallowing down the lump building in my throat, I croak out, “The first new addition?”
“One of a few.” The smile he gives me is breathtaking as he holds out a key to me. “Would you like to do the honors?”
I gingerly take it from him, putting all my strength into my arms as I wheel forward and push the key into the lock, turning it and hearing a click. Tilting my head slightly, I give him a wide smile before pushing the door open and crossing the threshold, putting thoughts of Phoebe to the back of my mind.
I walk in behind her, scrubbing the back of my neck nervously with the palm of my hand as she gazes around the room. I hardly touched the living room, only removing the coffee table, so when she looks back at me with a confused look, I shut the door and step in front of her. “I moved the coffee table in here, it was already pretty open so I didn’t have to do much.”
Amelia’s declaration she
’d move in was all the confirmation I needed to go ahead and start making the changes to my place; regardless of her dad still being angry with me. He may not like the fact she’s chosen to make my home hers, but it’s her decision, not his.
“Yeah, it is,” she murmurs, her gaze landing on mine as she goes farther into the room.
I walk ahead and open the sliding double doors into the kitchen. “The kitchen will be my domain mainly but I had a countertop installed that can be lowered by this handle in case you find yourself wanting to bake or anything.”
Her expression doesn’t give anything away as she nods and looks around before wheeling back out and heading toward the hallway. I stare after her for a beat; it seems unreal now that I see her wheeling herself around the house.
It was only two weeks ago I was talking to Harmony—a few days before Thanksgiving—showing her the changes that were being made.
“Her leaving the hospital will make it all the more real. Are you prepared for that?”
I take a seat opposite her on the island and motion to the house. “I couldn’t be more prepared.”
“I’m not talking about the house; I’m talking mentally. This is a big step.”
“Harm, you and Tris are adopting a baby and moving into your own house.” She starts to interrupt but I cut her off. “Don’t try and tell me that it’s different, it’s a huge step still, but you know.”
“I know?”
“Yeah.” I smile. “You know with every fiber of your being it’s the right thing to do.”
I fast walk over to the hallway when she disappears, bringing myself out of my head, and point to the first bathroom on the left. “In here we have a shower with a seat installed so you can shower on your own, all the bathrooms have had this installed. All the sinks in the house were already at a level I was assured would be fine for you, so they didn’t have to be changed.”
“Can I wheel my chair close to the seat?” she asks, her brows drawn down as she bites her bottom lip. “Traci taught me how to shower on my own, but the bathroom at the hospital has a little opening for the chair to go under so it doesn’t get wet.” She looks up at me, her eyes expectant.
I put up my finger and walk over to the shower, sitting in the seat. “You have these bars to help you move from chair to chair and then when you’re ready to shower.” I press a button on one of the bars and a glass screen slides slowly between me and my imaginary wheelchair. “How cool is that?”
She snorts at the expression on my face. “You sure that’s for me and not you?”
I shrug, I’d be lying if I hadn’t already tried it out. Standing up to shower is exhausting.
After the screen is firmly back in place, we continue the tour.
