Page 37 of Sunset Beach
“And you moved in,” he said. “From where?”
“Lauderdale. After my mom died, I was sort of at loose ends, so when my father offered me a job at his firm, there was really no reason not to move back here. I had a free place to stay, and a job, so why not?”
“I’ve always admired this house,” Corey admitted. “This past year or so, since Leonard moved out and the place was vacant, I had this far-fetched fantasy about buying it myself and fixing it up.”
“Sorry to spoil your fantasy, but I don’t see selling it. Even after Mom and I moved to Lauderdale, I’d come back every summer and spend a couple weeks here with my grandparents. It’s a special place to me.”
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Drue had done enough talking about herself. “What about you? Tell me the Corey Wagner story. I bet you do something at a gym. Like, maybe a trainer or something?”
“I’m pretty boring. I’m only a trainer in the sense that I’m my own best client,” he said. “My day job is as a physical therapist. I’m in training to do an Iron Man triathlon, which is why you see me running so often.”
“Do you work at a hospital or a clinic or something?”
“I’m in a practice with a couple other therapists. We specialize in sports injuries.”
“Single?” She was mentally crossing her fingers. This man was seriously hunky. He had a great body and brilliant blue eyes and a genuine smile. What was not to like?”
“I am single,” he said. “How about you?”
“Same,” she said.
He pointed at her knee. “Torn meniscus? ACL?”
“Both. Plus the usual,” she said.
“That sucks. Can I ask how you injured yourself?”
“Kiteboarding,” she said. “Midair collision with a guy I didn’t even see coming.”
He bent over, then looked up. “May I?”
His finger traced the thick white scar. It extended six inches above and six inches below her knee, zigzagging around the kneecap. “Wow. Who was your surgeon?”
“Just some guy they referred me to at the emergency room. Ezra Cline? He’s in Delray Beach.”
Corey placed a hand on either side of her knee. “Was he in his eighties or something?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact he was. Why?”
“’Cause this is some old-school technique here. It’s pretty swollen right now. Does that happen a lot?”
“After I walk, yeah. It’s so stupid. I only went down to the breakwater and back, but it’s killing me right now.”
“We should ice it. Do you have an ice pack or a dish towel or something I can use?”
“Hanging on the hook by the sink,” she said. “The fridge doesn’t have an ice maker, but there’s a plastic bin of cubes in the freezer.”
He disappeared into the kitchen, emerging with a makeshift ice pack, which he pressed to her knee.
“Extend your leg for me, please,” he said, kneeling on the deck and placing his hands on either side of the joint.
“Bend it.
“Now flex your foot.
“Do you ever feel the joint popping, or hear clicking when you walk?”
