Page 106 of You Met Me There

I twist my head to Nat as she kisses me, pulling her closer with a hand behind her neck. “I’ll be okay,” I say. “My mom will be here, the fridge is stocked with meals, thanks to Emma, and I don’t have to go anywhere for the next few days. I don’t have PT again until you come back.”

She bites her lip. Even with my mom staying here while she’s gone—which is only a few days while she drives her SUV back to Florida—she still worries about me. She looks me over, scanning to make sure I have everything I need nearby.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, reassuring her and letting her go. “You won’t be gone that long.”

She stands back, looking down at the big white cast that covers my leg from my foot to my knee. Thankfully, the marks on my cheek and forehead are just a light pink now, faded from the angry red gashes they were three weeks ago.

She blinks her eyes tightly, and I hold her hand. “Dr. Reena told me it’s good to acknowledge the fears as they come,” she says, “but to remind myself that I’m safe and to contradict each fear with a true statement.”

“So tell me your true statements,” I say, rubbing my thumb over the back of her hand.

Her eyes open and she exhales. “The car wasn’t going faster. You survived, and I got there as quickly as possible. And I didn’t lose you.”

I watch her as she tells me her three truths, so proud of her for going to therapy again and learning to cope with her emotions and fears.

“Good,” I say. “Just remember that.” I smile.

She pulls her shoulders back, breathing out through pursed lips, and grips the shoulder strap of her brown leather bag. “You’re right,” she says, smiling softly. “Samantha will take good care of you. Probably better than even I can.” She grins at me with slight hesitation, but the teasing tells me she’s getting better.

Every day, she’s getting better.

I grin back. “No one can take care of me better than you can.”

“Thanks for saying that.” She sighs. “But you’re a terrible liar.” Her smile is devious. “We both know your mom will cook more decadent meals than I could ever dream of making. I’m actually kind of jealous that you get to stay here, relaxing and eating food brought to you on a tray.”

“My mom won’t bring it on a⁠—”

The front door opens, and Mom trots in, grocery bags hanging from her fingers. A large wooden serving tray is tucked under the crook of her arm. She doesn’t notice us as she disappears around the corner to the kitchen.

“Hey, I’m here!” she calls through the sound of bags being set on the counter.

Nat raises a brow at me, a giggle escaping her lips. “Did you see the tray?” she whispers.

I roll my eyes and poke her side. She laughs.

“We’re right here, Mom,” I call over the couch.

Mom walks around the corner and her eyes find us. “Oh! I didn’t see you there.” She frowns at Nat. “Natalie, dear, aren’t you supposed to be on your way to the airport already? You’re going to be late for your flight.”

“I didn’t want to leave him until you got here. Thanks for coming over to stay for a few days.”

Mom hugs Natalie, and Nat’s shoulders visibly relax at the contact.

Mom steps back. “I’m happy to be here. It’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to spoil my boy.”

“Well, don’t spoil him too much,” Nat replies. “I don’t want him expecting any special treatment when I get back.” She turns around and winks at me. I shake my head and smirk, pointing at the front door in a gesture that says get out of here.

“Well, I better get going.” Nat kisses me one more time, and I stop myself from holding her there forever, watching as she picks up her purse from the coffee table. “I’ll see you both soon.”

“Don’t worry about a thing here,” Mom says. “Have fun with your family. And bring me back some of those maple sugar cookies I’ve heard Luke talk about.”

“You got it,” Nat says, turning toward the door with her bags in hand. She opens the door but glances back at me one last time, her shadow spread across the floor as the sun shines through.

We both know she has to go back to Maple Lake, but her time away will be felt like a chasm in the mountains, echoing with silence until she returns to me. Even if her absence only lasts a few days.

After lunch, Mom’s slippers announce her arrival as they scuff against the tile floor. I’m instantly alert, mentally shifting the walls in my mind to prepare for the conversation I imagined weeks ago.

She steps into the living room in a blue tracksuit, the hoodie zipped up, slim and fashionable. She asks if I want to watch TV, kicking her slippers off and making herself comfortable on the love seat across from me. She fluffs a yellow throw blanket over her legs and bare feet, then sips from a mug of coffee.