Page 5 of Keepsakes and Kismet

A towel comes flying, and I catch it just before it can smack me in the face.

Carter returns to trainer mode. “Time for a cool down. Arm stretches for thirty seconds each.”

I move my arms across my body, holding each elbow with the opposite hand. “So, are you going to Cait’s grand opening party?”

His eyes widen to saucers, and he takes a step toward me. “…Why? Are you thinking about going?”

Carter is the life of every party. When he’s not in personal training sessions with his clients, he’s living it up at our local club scene. Work hard, play hard is not only a motto for him—it’s a lifestyle. His zest for life is almost contagious.

But going places isn’t really my thing. My thing is really five things: going to the gym, going to work, going to therapy, going to Sunday family dinner, and—my favorite of all—going home.

I swing my arms at my side before moving my hands behind my head, pushing my chest out. “Um, yeah. I want to support Cait.”

“That’s great, bro.” He slaps me on the back.

A nervous breath gets lodged in my throat. “Do you, um, think they’ll be there?”

Carter tilts his head in sympathy. “Nah, Cait wouldn’t invite them to this kind of thing.”

Nodding, I drop my arms and shake them out.

“Proud of you.” He squeezes my shoulder.

It’s hard not to cringe at the surprised encouragement. I wish I went out more, but socializing is exhausting. I’m constantly anxious that I’ll do something weird and ruin everyone’s night.

“What time are you getting there?” I ask.

“I can pick you up at six.”

I know he’s only offering because he (rightfully) thinks I’ll bail. But between my promise to Dr. Jain and my desire to show up for my family when it counts, I won’t be skipping this one. Plus, I don’t need a chauffeur—I need an exit plan.

“No need. I’ll drive myself. I promise I’m going.”

Carter leans forward, his discerning gaze narrowing for a moment, before he straightens and smiles. “She’ll be thrilled.” He groans. “Shit. I just remembered I agreed to help set up for the party.”

“Well, your Galvin responsibility is assembly. And moving heavy stuff.” I clear my throat. “Shirk your family responsibilities and face the wrath of Ma and Dad.”

He rolls his eyes. “Please. Their wrath manifests as withholding vanilla wafers for dessert.”

“And it’s a chilling threat, Carter. You’d forgo the greatest boxed cookie of all time to avoid a house responsibility? I truly believe if food scientists ground up Nilla wafers and packed the crumbs into a time-release capsule, it’d cure my PTSD.”

He throws me the same boyish grin I’ve seen a million times since childhood. “Well, Doctor, you have connections in the food industry. Get on it so we can all get off your mopey ass.”

I bite my lip to keep from smiling at Carter’s shit-talk. One of my favorite things about him is his carefree attitude with me. He never treats me like I’m someone to be handled with care. At its core, our relationship has stayed the same, even after everything that happened. I prefer it to the pity stares from old acquaintances at the grocery store.

“For the last time, I’m not a doctor. You’ve got to stop saying that. Impersonating a medical professional is an actual crime.”

He brushes me off with a wave of his hand. “Whatever. You’re close enough. You do check-ups.”

“On restaurants. And hot dog stands.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to, bro.” Checking his watch for the second time, he frowns. “I need to restock the convenience area before we open. I have a fuckton of strawberries-and-cream flavored protein bars that won’t move.”

I grimace. “Yeah. Because those taste like chalk.”

“You know what they say, Cal: some people’s almost-expired chalk is other people’s emotional support protein bar.” His focus locks on me, suspicion flooding his expression. “So, I’ll see you at the party then… Right? If you’re still planning on going, of course.”

My eyes roll so hard they almost fall out of their sockets. “Ask me again, Carter.”