Page 23 of Pretty Thing

“You brought me coffee,” she asks quietly, glancing at the tray.

“And muffins. Maple pecan.”

“Those are my favorite,” she says, her face brightening a little. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I want to.”

That’s the thing. I didn’t have to call the physiotherapy clinic yesterday or the funeral home early this morning to leave messages about making arrangements. I didn’t have to spend thirty minutes on hold arguing with her parents’ insurance company to get information, schedule the consultation with the estate lawyer, or even set reminders in my phone for when Eden needs her next dose of pain medication. But I want to.

No one else will do all of this, and she keeps looking around like she expects the world to end every few seconds. I understand that look. I’ve been there.

“Have you taken your meds yet?”

“No.”

Grabbing the bottle off her nightstand, I drop one in my hand and take it to her along with the coffee. Opening it, I try it first. Nope, not too hot. I hand it over.

“You need to eat something. Those pills are strong, and the bottle says take with food.”

Heading to the dresser, I grab the muffins and wander back casually.

“You’re bossy,” Eden grumbles and I smirk.

“And you’re stubborn.” I cock an eyebrow at Eden and her lips press tighter together.

“That sounds like an insult.”

“Let’s just call it an observation.”

She giggles softly and rolls her eyes, but lets me sit close to her, our arms touching as I hand over the food. She reaches a little too fast, and her fingers curl into my sleeve as she winces when another flash of pain cuts through her.

It’s a tiny gesture. Barely there. But it still pulls at me in the best way possible. Someone needs me, but not just anyone…her. I love how Eden’s eyes light up when she sips the coffee and am happy that it’s exactly how she likes it.

Standing, I look around, despite knowing where her clothes are located.

“What pants do you want? I’ll grab them.”

“You don’t have to keep doing all this,” she says after a minute.

“What exactly is all this? Being nice? Offering to help? You’re right, but I want to. Hopefully, one of these times I say it you’ll start to believe me.”

Her throat works, and then she looks in the bag, pulls out the muffin, and takes a bite. She finally shrugs.

“But this is above and beyond for anyone.”

I lock eyes with hers, and an ache—that has nothing to do with the accident—pushes in on my chest. The warm glow of the sun is slipping through her blinds and reflecting off her amber eyes, makes her seem ethereal.

A gold shimmer covers the bruises. Gold over sadness. Gold over a girl who survived something she probably wishes she hadn’t. Gold making her look…like a small piece of heaven, and angel that got left behind.

“Stop saying it like it’s a bad thing. Looking after you isn’t a burden to me.”

“I only mean…you barely know me. Just because you got me out of the car doesn’t mean you’re automatically designated as my full-time caregiver. I have friends I can call to help.”

This again. Eden mentioned it last night during the movie as well. Does she really believe people only deserve care once they’ve earned enough hours? As if mutual devastation isn’t enough.

Ignoring the comment and gathering my thoughts, I head over to her closet and pull open the two accordion doors. She has all the items organized and color-coded from lightest to darkest.

Pulling out a grey pair of sweatpants, I close the doors and stop to grab clean, warm socks from her dresser.