She pursed her lips. “Sit down. Take a load off. I’ll get you something to eat.”
“I don’t need—”
“Nick,” she warned, setting his bags near the hall that led to both bedrooms. “You’re on heavy medication. You need something to eat.”
As he sank to a chair at the table, he lifted his ACE-wrapped hand. The RN at the hospital had kept the wrap loose to accommodate his swelling. “Do you have anything that doesn’t involve a fork or spoon?”
She frowned, realizing that he had injured his dominant arm, and cursed under her breath as she walked into the adjoining kitchen. That would make his recovery that much more challenging.
She and her cousins had spent several weekends knocking out the kitchen’s west wall so she could expand the space, adding an island and a pantry and room enough for more than one person to work around the stove, sink and prep areas. Not that she cooked overmuch. And not that she didn’t live alone or planned on changing that.
Yet when she’d seen the place for the first time, she’d wanted the kitchen to be big enough for her whole family—not just her mother, father and grandparents but her aunts, uncles and cousins, too. She’d pictured herself hosting Thanksgivings, raising a glass to her aunts as they huddled over the stove and joining her cousins and Nick in a game of touch football in the big, sprawling backyard while her uncles sipped brewskies on the patio around the Weber.
She opened both doors of the fridge and observed her options. Takeout containers populated the space. Nick had suggested she start writing the dates of origin on top of them so she no longer had to guess how long the entrées had been residing in her fridge. Still, she made sure to sniff the contents as she took out boxes and set them on the counter. She filled a plate with crab rangoons from the Chinese place, stuffed mushrooms from that little restaurant on the corner of Fig Street that both she and Nick frequented, and chicken wings she’d snatched from the Sauce Spot for lunch that afternoon. In the junk drawer, she snagged some Wet Ones for wing-related cleanups. He still had a thing for milk, so she poured him a glass and took his meal to the table.
His head lay on his good arm on the table in a defeated posture she couldn’t stand to see. “If you don’t cheer up, Malone, I’m going to have to start flossing.”
“Flossing?”
“Yeah, you know…” She started to execute the dance move in a flurry of arms and hips.
He raised his head, half smiling, half wincing as he watched her through the haze of sedatives and bemusement. “I’m not sure it works like that…”
“Then show me how it’s done, Nick,” she countered without stopping. She threw in the Humpty because it felt right and she was determined to cheer him up.
His smile strengthened. He broke into a laugh. “You’re insane.”
She gave in, gripping the back of a chair to catch her breath. “Damn, I’m out of shape.”
His chuckle faded away as his thoughts weighed on him again. “I forgot about my mom.”
“What about your mom?” she asked, nudging his plate toward him.
“I promised to bring Riot back tomorrow. Some of the residents were in PT when I took him to River House this morning and missed out on their pet therapy session.”
“What time?” she asked.
“Eight a.m.”
She waved a hand. “I’ve got that.”
“Sassy, you can’t do everything.”
“Nick,” she countered. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. The gallery doesn’t open until ten. If I get tied up at River House with Riot, Soledad can open for me. It’s no big deal. I can give Margot the quilt my mom made for her and take Riot to the dog park after his session to stretch his legs.”
Nick sighed. “You’re taking on way too much for me.”
“I didn’t wake up today to be meek,” she declared. “What makes you think tomorrow will be any different?”
“You’re incredible,” he murmured, eyes softening on her as they had in the ER. “You always have been.”
She swallowed when her bones began to melt and forced herself to look away so she could tear open the little packages of Wet Ones. “Be a good boy and eat your takeout.”
Nick nodded at the offerings. “The best Dark Canyon has to offer.”
“I thought so.” He had propped his wrapped hand on the edge of the table. She resisted the urge to trail her fingers along the back of it in a caress. “Does it still hurt?”
“It’s the swelling that’s driving me crazy,” he admitted.
