That’s the exact second his brain malfunctions. Face pinched, he blinks rapidly, clearly struggling to process the information.
“Mark is fake,” I clarify before he spontaneously combusts from the mental gymnastics going on in his head. “I mean, he’s real in my heart. But he’s fictional.”
“So itwasa fake ring.” A statement rather than a question, putting two and two together. “I’ll kick the absolute shit out of Mark, for the record. Those bitch-boy surgeon hands ain’t got nothin’ on me. I’d love nothing more than to steal you away from him.”
I can’t help but smile, an increasingly common occurrence whenever he’s around. “For some reason, I like you better anyway.”
—
“I promise, I’m fine,” I insist, getting comfortable on the couch while Denver slides a pillow under my foot.
Turns out, I was right about the broken ankle. Denver drove to the hospital in Sheridan, sat with me for hours, and slept in the waiting room while they performed surgery to align the bones. He kept my parents updated, fed me, and softly stroked my hair when the drugs made me nauseous.
And now he’s in my house, propping my ankle up and completely ignoring my requests to let me do anything myself.
“You broke your ankle and had surgery last night.” He shakes his head, dragging the coffee table closer so I can reach the million drink and snack options he has laid out for me. “Take full advantage of the royal treatment, princess.”
Mom looks up from her recliner with a smile. “Hopefully your ankle is healed up in time for your wedding, Blair.”
Her confusion about the relationship between Denver and me is the one thing she’s consistent about. To be fair, I’m also unsure about our relationship. Are we officially together? We are, aren’t we?
“That’s why I gotta take good care of my girl, isn’t that right, Mrs. Hart?” He gestures at me to sit up straight so he can plop down on the couch, then I fall back into his lap. “She needs to be able to walk down the aisle.”
Mom laughs. “She’s a klutz—I bet she trips walking down the aisle, anyway. At least it’s harder to fall if she’s already in a wheelchair.”
“Oh, good point.” Denver smiles over at her. “Although, if anyone can have a wheelchair accident during a wedding, it’s Blair Bear.”
“Um, you two know I can hear you, right?” I toss my hands up in annoyance. But a big part of me is also relieved Mom seems to be having a good day. I don’t think I could handlethe pain in my ankle while also managing Mom’s symptoms, and the emotional pain that comes with it.
“It’s said with love.” Denver rubs his thumb over my cheek, looking down at me with a softness in his eyes.
Mom flips on her dailyWheel of Fortunebinge, and Denver sinks deeper into the couch, stroking my hair.
“How old are these reruns?” he quietly asks. “There’s no way this was filmed more recently than the nineties.”
“Eighties, for sure. Look at that Madonna hair.” I pretend like I’m reaching for my drink, and tap the info button on the remote, much to my mother’s chagrin. A box pops up in the corner with the original air date, and I smile up at Denver. “April 24, 1986.”
With a deviant smile, he pulls his phone from the front pocket of his blue jeans and taps away on the screen during a commercial break.
“I know the answers,” he mouths. “All of them.”
When the commercial ends, there’s aTand anNon the board. And Denver sits there pondering alongside Mom. She leans in to study the board, and Denver clears his throat before innocently asking, “Could it be demolition derby?”
Mom glances over at him, shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so. It’s too soon to guess, anyway.”
“Hrm.” He grins at me. “My vote is demolition derby.”
A few minutes, and alotmore letters later, his answer is right. Because of course it is. And Mom is in a state of shock, gawking between the television and Denver, asking him how on Earth he knew the answer.
“I don’t know. It just seemed right…with theTand theN.” He shrugs impishly.
“You’re evil,” I whisper up to him, shifting my head on his lap to get comfortable. “Tricking her like that.”
“Not evil.Smart.”
And when he gets the second puzzle correct with only aPand anS,Mom nearly loses her shit entirely.
Smacking the armrest of her recliner, she practically shrieks my name. “Did you know how smart this boy of yours is?Gosh,I can’t believe it. The two of you—ugh—you’re going to have perfect children. Smart, beautiful, funny.”
