Page 32 of Yours Truly, Fall

“You’re building it up too much. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“What are we having?”

Walking toward her, I reply, “Lasagna again. Hope you don’t mind leftovers.”

Her smile grows fast. “I was hoping you’d say that. It’s so good.” She starts for the door and opens it. “I need to ask Brenda for the recipe.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to share it with you.” I grab the door. She walks inside, and I follow her. I’m hit with the delectable scent of garlic and marinara filling the air when I enter the house again. My stomach growls, so I rub my hand over it. “I’m starving.”

“Hungry is a good sign.” She grabs the oven mitts I left on the counter just as the timer goes off. I get plates from the cabinet while she takes the dish out of the oven, but stop when I realize how natural this is for us to move around in each other’s space. There’s no pressure to perform or a feeling of walking on eggshells. It’s easy being with her.

Stripping the gloves from her hands, she says, “Your face is looking good.”

“A bit forward, Nurse, but I appreciate the compliment.” I send her a wink.

Her features flick through about fifty emotions before landing on humor again. “I was talking about the swelling and bruising. I’d like to get a closer look.”

“You don’t have to ask to do your job.”

“It’s only polite. It will just take a minute. I can examine you while the food cools from scalding to an edible temperature.” She starts for the living room, stopping next to the large windows.

Unsure what to do, I stand in front of her and let her ogle me. “How do you want me?”

The room is so quiet I hear her suck in a short breath before exhaling. “Stay just like that.” She runs a finger lightly over my shoulder, her gaze fixed on me. “I think we should remove the bandages and let you take a shower. How do you feel about that range of motion?”

I lift my arm. The slightest of pain slithers through my muscles, causing me to close my eyes and breathe through it. I open my eyes while lowering my arm again, and reply, “I should be fine.”

With her eyes catching every little reaction from the twitch of a muscle to what I’m trying hard to hide from her, she says, “I know you want a full shower after the lackluster handwashing, but I think we’re another day or two out from you having that range of motion without potentially injuring yourself further.”

“In layman’s terms?”

She moves behind me, inspecting my back again in the natural light we’ve still got before the sun sets for the night. “I can’t approve a shower for you without assistance.” Approve?

“And by assistance you mean?” I peek over my shoulder at her. Her gaze is still gliding over my skin, giving me a moment to admire her pretty face.

Holding up two fingers, she says, “You have two choices. You can sponge yourself off, or I can help you in the shower.” How she manages to give me those options with a straight face is quite the talent.

“If you want to get me naked, Nurse Season, all you have to do is ask.”

That earns me a laugh so hard that she bends over and starts coughing. Since I’m a trained EMT, I’m very close to jumping in and helping open her passageways. Fuck, why’d my mind go there? Get your head out of the gutter. She’s not choking, idiot.

She grabs her throat, her face red from blood rushing to it as she stands back up. “Oh my God, Brandon. That was hilarious. Oh my, I needed that laugh.”

I can’t say I’m laughing with her. Sure, it was funny but not that funny . . . “Yeah, hilarious.” Maybe the attraction is one-sided. Too bad because I would have loved to see where this would have gone. “I need a shower. Since you’re a professional, we can tackle it together if that’s the only way I’m getting one.”

Her chest still rattles with tremors of laughter, but she says, “Let’s eat, and then we can get you all clean before bed. How does that sound?”

“Just dandy,” I deadpan, returning to the kitchen.

“If you’d feel more comfortable, I could call your mom to⁠—”

“No,” I snap. “My mom seeing me naked wouldn’t make me feel more comfortable. It’s fine. It’s whatever.” None of this is actually fine. I’ve been pretending that sitting around healing, like I have control over it, was doing something. I’m no closer to getting back to work. I’m not close to even taking care of myself, apparently. Her laughing so hard at the thought of me naked is just the cherry on top of this fucked-up sundae.

“Okay. Okay,” she says, holding up her hands in surrender. “Got the message.” She slips around me. “Do you want to eat at the table or on the couch? Where will you be more comfortable?”

“Couch.”

“You go on. I can serve the food.”