Page 27

Her heart was pounding, her skin growing damp.

When she couldn’t settle herself with deep breaths, she knew this was more than the general fear she experienced whenever she left the house. This time, the threat was amplified by the terror of…of real change. Physical pain was one thing. The thought of opening herself up to more loss was excruciating. She hadn’t made a friend in over eight years, let alone one in December.

Eight years.

Had it really been that long? The timeline stretched out before her. She’d never had many friends, only a handful as a child, which reduced to a couple after her mother left, dwindling to just her best friend, Sally, in her teens, until she abandoned her too the December before university. A few study-buddies here and there, never lasting longer than a semester. Noah in grad school. After that, Devra relied on David and Papa for social support, because they were the only people who could understand. Because they shared her burden. But now she was seeing even them less and less, wasn’t she? Preferring to check in by text message rather than an actual visit. Blaming her busy work schedule for turning down dinner invites. Staying indoors alone, more and more. How had she let her issues grow this big? She’d given the curse so much power over her life. Not only in December, but always, every day, too afraid of a life outside of her computer.

Devra stood paralyzed on the entry mat. She wanted to take the next step. She did. But it was too much, too soon. The wrong place, the wrong time. Her history was a physical thing, gripping her ankles and holding her in place.

After an agonizing minute, she turned around and sagged away from the door. She plunked bottom first onto the ottoman, both relieved and utterly disappointed with herself.

“Squally?”

“Yes, Devra?”

“I could use a pep talk right about now.”

“You can do it, Devra! If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything.”

Where had Squally gotten these terrible lines from? She’d have to go through the VA’s support-giving responses one by one and completely overhaul—

Except the clichéd pep talk worked, an idea forming.

Put your mind to it.

Devra was a problem solver. A borderline genius, as Bradley had pointed out this morning, causing her to blush. She didn’t need to overcome all her fears in one day. Change happened in increments, one line of code at a time. What she needed to do was use her big brain and come up with a less terrifying method of delivering this gift.

BRADLEY

Bradley ran the sandpaper along the top rail of the headboard, rounding out the sharp edge. He’d done the messy big-tool jobs at work during his break and had brought the wood panel home to finesse. This was the part he enjoyed the most.

Using the tools his sisters had gifted him, he alternated between chisels and gouges, making small, shallow cuts to avoid splintering the wood. He loved the feel of the grain guiding his hand, the meditative focus of making precision cuts. He shaped a scrollwork pattern into the headboard slat, which swooped and spiralled like a tangle of Devra’s hair. How her hair would feel running through his fingers. How her body might feel pressed up against his, moving against him, his hands rounding her curves the same way they rounded a piece of w—

“Ouch.”

Bradley stuck his thumb in his mouth to catch the bubble of blood.

So much for meditative focus.

After grabbing a bandage, he stretched out his arms, arched his lower back, and resituated himself on the drop cloth he’d set up on the living room floor to catch shavings and debris.

He returned his attention to his work. Not to Devra. Her lush lips. How those lips might taste. How they might look wrapped around his—

Okay. Stop.

Dr. Rahi had strongly discouraged him from pursuing sexual or romantic feelings during the early stages of his recovery. It was important for him to focus on himself, to find himself. To steady out the highs and lows he’d been thrashing around in for the past decade. Nothing unsettled a person’s equilibrium more than a new relationship. Not that there was any chance of that. Devra barely wanted to talk to him, let alone—Not that he wanted that. He didn’t think of her like that. He…

He sucked in a deep breath, clearing his mind again.

For a while, he focused on the instant gratification that came with each cut as a dimensional image appeared before him on what had once been a blank canvas of solid oak. Yet he could almost hear her calling to him. He tried to fixate on the feel of the tools in his hand as he etched and chiselled. But his thoughts drifted. Soon he was thinking about tossing pebbles at her window in a romcom fashion so he could express his—

Wait, why the hell was he thinking about throwing pebbles at her window?

Thud.

A sound like a bird hitting the window had him jabbing his chisel deep into a groove and messing up his intended design.

“What the—?” He turned around and saw Devra at her window, mouthing something at him.