The words feltstrange as she typed them. She'd once thought herself brave—traveling to dangerous places, negotiating with foreign governments, standing her ground in boardrooms full of men who wanted to dismiss her. But real bravery was what Talon did. What he'd done for her.
Talon:Snails are nothing compared to this.
No doubt!She found herself laughing, actually laughing, and the physical therapist looked up with surprise. When was the last time she’d laughed? Really laughed, not just polite social sounds but genuine amusement?
She lookedat her plate and dropped a pat of butter on top of the horrible-looking stack of pancakes she'd made. They looked like disasters, but she'd made them herself. Using her hands to lift anything was extremely hard. She shook and had to use one hand to steady the other, but she was making progress.Baby steps.That was what her therapist called them. But they felt like mountain-sized steps to her.
She wanted to share her success with someone.Not someone. Talon.She smiled and texted him. She knew he would appreciate what she'd done.
Riley:Started cooking again today. Made pancakes.
She’d cooked.Like it was the most natural thing in the world, not a monumental victory over hands that shook and a mind that sometimes forgot she was safe.
Talon:How'd they turn out?
She lookedat the mess on the counter, the drips of batter down the side of the stainless-steel garbage can at the end of the prep counter, and thought of the first batch that had burned because she couldn't figure out how to flip the pancakes after she’d lifted them off the griddle. She ended up twisting her entire body to help flip them over. It was awkward, but it worked. And that felt like a metaphor for her entire recovery.
Riley:Burned the first batch. Second is edible.
Not good,not delicious, but edible. It was honest, and somehow, she knew Talon would appreciate the honesty more than false bravado.
Talon:Progress. What's next on the menu?
He got it.He understood that it wasn't about becoming a gourmet chef. It was about reclaiming pieces of herself, one burned pancake at a time. She carefully stabbed a piece of pancake and lifted hershaking hand to her mouth. As she ate the maple syrup-coated goodness, she thought about his question. If she made spaghetti, she could lift it with a tong out of the water. Lifting the entire pot without spilling boiling water would be impossible. Or maybe use a pasta pot. She could lift the strainer and just leave it on the edge of the pot to drain. Yeah, she could do that.
Riley:Thinking pasta. Hard to mess up.
Talon:Famous last words.
Riley stuckher tongue out at the phone but responded.
Riley:Thanks for the confidence boost
He made her feel normal.Like she was just a friend complaining about cooking challenges, not a broken woman trying to remember how to live.
October
Riley wokeup and grabbed at her phone when it vibrated. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table.Four in the morning?She blinked as the light from her phone blinded her.Who’s texting at this hour?Waiting a few seconds for her eyes to focus before she could actually see the words, she squinted to read.
Talon:It's 0300 here, and someone is playing a trumpet outside my hotel.
A trumpet?She rubbed her eyes and read the text again. He was somewhere dealing with a trumpet player at 3 a.m., and his first instinct was to tell her about it. The thought made her chest tight with something she couldn't quite name. She closed one eye and typed.
Riley:Where are you?
Talon:New Orleans. Apparently, the music never stops.
Ah,well, that explains the trumpet.She turned on her lamp, which was harder than it should have been, but at least she was able to rotate her wrist enough to work the small knob. Another little victory. She sat up in bed, suddenly wide awake and grateful for this unexpected connection in the middle of the night.
Riley:I love that city. The food, the music, the energy.
It wasa great city for a vacation, but if you needed to sleep, probably not, at least not in the French Quarter and definitely not during Mardi Gras. But more than that, it was a city that felt alive in a way that made her father's house feel even more like a tomb by comparison.
Talon:When were you here?
Riley:College spring break. Felt like a different lifetime.
Because it was a different lifetime.Before everything had gone wrong, before she’d learned that the world could be a terrifying place, before she’d met a man who made her feel safe with nothing more than text messages across thousands of miles.
