After we pick up the prescription, Elle turns to me. “Where’s Hannah?” she asks, as if just now realizing she’s been absent this entire time.
“She’s with my parents.”
“Was that something you planned, or is she there because of me?”
“They offered to keep her tonight.”
“So you could tend to your invalid neighbor?” she says, arching a brow.
“You’re going to need help,” I reply gently. “At least until Tina gets off work.”
“Which won’t be until tomorrow morning,” she sighs. “Can Beth stay with me?”
“I thought of that,” I say. “She has a soccer match in the morning and is spending the night with some of her teammates.”
She bites her lower lip, weighing any other options.
“Please,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “Let me help you. I’ll make a simple dinner, clean up, make sure you take your meds—and after I tuck you in, I’ll head home.”
“I think I can manage," she says. "With the crutches, I can get around. And I’m not really hungry, so I’m just going to shower, then try to relax and watch something mindless on TV. I’ll probably fall asleep on the couch, and Tina can wake me up when she gets in.”
"I told Tina I’d stay with you, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do."
"I'm too tired to argue," she says. "But let me be clear, there won't be any tucking in."
I smile, and for a split second, everything between us feels normal again. But it doesn’t last. Her gaze shifts away, and just like that, the wall goes back up.
Chapter 17
Danielle
Our trip to the ER took almost four hours, so by the time we get home, my stomach is growling in protest. I haven’t eaten all day, and when the grilled chicken strips Cal found in the fridge start cooking in the air fryer, my mouth practically waters.
I don’t want to watch him as he moves around the kitchen, pulling out everything he needs to make grilled chicken quesadillas. I haven’t seen him in weeks, and I can’t deny just how much I've missed him. His jeans sit low on his hips, and I’ve never known anyone who looks that good in a plain T-shirt. I know he runs, but those arms, and those abs—they don’t come from cardio alone. That’s strength training.
I hate myself for noticing just how attractive he is. For having a physical reaction to his presence.
I hate him.
But I miss him.
Ugh.
He opens the refrigerator, and I catch myself staring at his strong back. My eyes roam—head to toe—before I can stop them.
When he turns around, the instant grin that spreads across his lips tells me everything. He caught me.
"Do you want salsa in your quesadillas? Or maybe some barbecue sauce?"
"Neither," I say, praying the heat rising in my cheeks isn’t as obvious as it feels. "Just chicken and cheese. Thank you."
"You got it," he says, turning his attention back to the dismal contents of the fridge.
The keepsake box he made for me is sitting on the small table we keep by the fireplace, and when I notice it, I’m immediately reminded of why he made it in the first place.
“Are you still planning to attend the woodworking conference?” I ask.
“I am,” he says, flipping a quesadilla in the cast iron pan.
