She rises onto her tiptoes and kisses me. I deepen it, ignoring Zale’s gagging noise and the way her mother shushes her father, who is getting worked up watching me kiss his daughter.
“Ms. Evans,” one of the nurses says from behind us. “We should get you back upstairs. Your body still needs rest.”
We slowly separate, and I kiss her nose before helping her ease back into the wheelchair. Zale brings the phone over, and we both lean in to thank her parents for being there. Her mom blows kisses and her dad clears his throat gruffly and says, “Take care of her, Gabriel.”
“I will,” I promise.
Once we’re backin the room, exhaustion hits Zalea. The nurses help her settle into her bed, and within minutes of her head hitting the pillow, she’s asleep. Across the room, the canvas leans against the wall near the window, the paint still glistening under the lowlight.
Zale stands in front of it, staring like it’s something fragile.
“I hope you know,” I say quietly, keeping my voice low so I don’t wake her, “that was probably the best reveal you could’ve done for your sister.”
He doesn’t look at me right away, eyes fixed on the canvas.
“Thank you,” I add. “We both really appreciate it.”
He glances over then, cheeks a faint pink as he shrugs one shoulder. “It was no baby sumo wrestlers,” he mutters. “But, I’m glad you two liked it.”
I huff out a soft laugh as we fall into an easy silence, staring at the canvas together.
“I’m scared to be excited,” he suddenly says. “After what happened last time…I’m scared.”
His jaw tightens and I nod slowly, sliding my hands into the pocket of my hoodie.
“We all are,” I admit. “But the only thing we can do is take it one day at a time and stay hopeful and positive for her.” I glance toward the bed. “She needs to feel like it’s okay to be happy.”
He watches her for a long moment before nodding. “Yeah.”
We fall back into that easy silence, but within a few minutes he speaks again.
“I bet they’ll look just like her,” he says after a while.
A small smile pulls at my mouth. “I sure hope so.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
ZALEA | FLORENCE
FOUR MONTHS LATER
Ever since Gabrielhad me moved into the hospital’s VIP unit, and requested an English speaking medical team, I’ve been much more comfortable and able to fully rest. He has a pullout bed beside mine too, so now he doesn’t have to twist himself into a hard chair overnight or stay on the rock hard bench. He’s sleeping properly, and eating properly, and that allows me to relax in a way I couldn’t before.
Zale stops by almost everyday, but about a month into my stay, I practically shoved him out the door and told him to go experience Italy. He’s been staying at our apartment, sleeping in our bed, and sending me voice notes about his adventures, and what sound like an ever-growing resume of Italian women.
However, today I’m startled awake from my morning nap to the obnoxious sound of party blowouts. I jolt upright, a cramp instantly seizing my side as I hiss, pressing my palm against the ache.
“What the?—”
I blink the sleep from my eyes and find Zale standing at the foot of my bed holding a white cake box. Two party blowouts dangle limply from his mouth, and his wide-eyed horror matches my glare perfectly.
Gabriel rushes in a second later, juggling balloons and a stunning bouquet of flowers. He freezes as he takes in the scene.
“Please tell me you didn’t blow those things and wake her up.”
Zale yanks them from his mouth. “I barely breathed into them! They just…unraveled and that horrendous sound came out.
Gabriel groans. “I knew I should’ve just given you the balloons.”
