“Hey,” she says as she drops onto a barstool. “What are you making?”
“Dinner for you if you’re hungry for it,” I say over my shoulder. “Have you eaten?”
“Not yet,” she says. “But you didn’t have to cook for me.”
I take the sauce for the scallopini off the heat and turn off the stove.
“I cooked forus,” I say. “You’ve been working so hard to take care of everyone else. Let me take care of you for a change.” I move to the cutting board and slice off a small piece of the sautéed chicken, dipping it in the sauce before carrying it over to Sarah and offering her a bite.
She takes it, her lips brushing against my fingers before she closes her eyes, letting out a little moan as she chews. “A man of many talents,” she says. “That’s delicious.”
“Don’t get too excited,” I say. “It’s one of about three things I know how to make well.”
She rubs her hands over her face like she’s trying to wake herself up. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“It’s all done,” I say. “I’m plating everything now. But are you okay? We don’t have to do this if you?—”
“No, I definitely need to eat,” she says. “And I want to. I’m just tired.” While I plate our food, she moves around the bar and pulls two glasses out of the cabinet, filling them with ice and water. “I kinda got into it with my brother right before I left, so I’m still feeling a little off.”
I carry our plates to the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“It’s just more of the same. He practically cornered me on my way out the door and tried to make me talk to this guy, some teacher he found who also happens to be from Canada. The poor man was already on the phone, so then I had to very politely extricate myself from a conversation I never wanted to have in the first place.” Sarah drops into her chair and looks down at her food. “This is amazing, Carter. Thank you.”
I sit down across from her. “He shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that,” I say. But that’s really only part of it. He shouldn’t be pushing her. Insisting that he knows what’s best for her when she’s been perfectly clear about what she wants.
“He’ll figure it out eventually,” she says. “But it’s really starting to feel less like he wants me to be pragmatic and more like he’s just refusing to see what I do as something real. Like, do I need to show him my bank statements for him to accept that I already have a real job?” She gives her head a little shake. “Let’s talk about something else. I don’t want to give him any more of my headspace tonight.”
“Okay, how about an update on the Rebecca situation?”
Sarah’s eyes widen. “Um, yes, please. Have you gotten Theo to talk about it?”
Since my run-in with Theo’s ex at the hospital last week, Sarah has been fully invested. “No,” I say. “But I did talk toNico. He’s the Jaguars head trainer, and he has a sister who works at Atlanta General. She asked around, and I guess Rebecca is a travel nurse. She travels with her best friend, who was one of Anna’s nurses. That’s what she was doing on the labor and delivery floor. Anyway, she works in surgery, she’s only been here a couple of weeks, and she could stay anywhere from three to six months.”
“Have you told Theo any of this?”
“I tried, but he shut me down pretty quickly,” I say. “He doesn’t want to talk about it at all.”
“Poor Theo,” Sarah says.
“For real. I genuinely had no idea she ever even crossed his mind. He’s never talked about her.”
Conversation is easy for the rest of dinner as Sarah grows more and more relaxed. By the time we’re finished, she looks more like herself again. She’s smiling a little more easily, laughing as she tells me all the adorable things Olive has had to say about the new baby.
It’s such a simple thing, but there’s something intoxicating about being the one who makes her feel better. I want that job.
Sarah told me once that I was rescuing her, but the truth is, she really isn’t the kind of woman who needs to be rescued. She’s stronger than she thinks and more talented than she knows. I might be buying her time, but she’s rescuing herself. She’s doing the work.
Still, even if I don’trescueher, if there’s anything I can do to make the burdens she carries feel lighter, I’m all in.
After we finish, I carry our empty plates to the sink, but Sarah follows, nudging me out of the way with her hip. “You cooked,” she says. “That means I’m doing the dishes.”
“I don’t mind doing them,” I say, stepping to the side toopen the dishwasher. “You’re the one who was on your feet all day.”
“Didn’t you have practice this morning?”
I shrug. “Yeah, but that’s just practice.”
“Justpractice for a professional athlete is neverjustanything. You can sit and keep me company, but you aren’t touching a dish.”
