“And since I didn’t know what your mom likes to eat, there are several options for her. Another omelet, some French toast, an entire container of bacon.” Apparently his guilt about the day before hadn’t entirely left him.
“You really didn’t have to do this,” I said, but my stomach growled at the mention of bacon.
“I really did.” He held out the bag.
I stepped one bare foot onto the porch to retrieve it. He took in my pajamas—silky black pants and a matching button-down, long-sleeved top.
“Do you always look so cute in the mornings?” he asked.
“Keep your guilt compliments to yourself,” I said, but a traitorous blush crept up my face. I tried to remember the last time anyone had called me cute. When I was five years old in pigtails? I wasn’t generally regarded as cute. Tall, intimidating, businesslike, sometimes stunning, when I put in the effort. But never cute.
He smiled his winning smile. I took the bag and he gave me a salute, then jogged to his car.
I closed the door and set the bag on the table, where I pulled the containers out one by one.
“You had food delivered?” Mom asked.
“Yes,” I said, because I didn’t want to explain that Elijah was bringing us food because he felt guilty about not coming over to help the day before. I was sure she’d have something to say about that. I was feeling too surprised… in a good way… to want my mom’s commentary right now.
I plucked a piece of bacon out of its container and took a bite. “What sounds good? Eggs or French toast?”
“You know I only do coffee first thing in the morning. And a banana. I’d like a banana.”
“More for me,” I said, taking another bite. I poured her a mug of coffee, peeled her a banana, and took them both to her.
“I can’t believe you answered the door like that,” she said, nodding toward my messy ponytail.
“I have it on good authority that I look cute,” I said.
She laughed like it was a joke.
I set her coffee and banana down on the TV tray before I gave in to any intrusive thoughts.
“Does this have my vanilla creamer in it?”
She has a reconstructed leg. She takes pain meds all day for it. She has to be helped onto the toilet. I would be grumpy too.I repeated these words over and over as I got her creamer.
Maybe I needed to put on some gloves and punch things again today. Good thing I happened to know someone who ran a boxing gym.
We really do need to exchange phone numbers, I thought as I climbed out of my car and headed to the gym. I’d left my mom with her phone and the remote and pillows propped up just right and told her to call me if she needed me. She was only sixty years old, she reminded me, and I was treating her like some frail old woman. I didn’t remind her that she was sixty-two.
The gym was busier than the last time I was here. It was the weekend, so that made sense. My days all felt the same lately, but that didn’t mean everyone else’s were.
“Sutton,” a deep voice said, and I turned, thinking I was going to see Elijah, but it was Michael, standing by the wall of boxing gloves, rerolling wraps.
“Hi,” I said. “Elijah said I could come work out whenever.”
“Of course.” He nodded toward the shelves. “Help yourself.”
“Thanks.” I slowly walked forward, feeling way more intimidated this time than last time because I wasn’t sure I couldhelp myself. I didn’t remember which gloves Elijah had picked out for me or if I could even get them tied up on my own.
“Eli isn’t here right now,” Michael said.
“That’s okay,” I said, even as feelings of disappointment settled onto my chest. Those feelings surprised me. “Did you get your wedding emergency under control?”
“Wedding emergency?” he asked, tossing me a rolled-up wrap.
I barely caught it, fumbling it between both hands before securing it against my chest. “Yesterday,” I said.
