So, yeah. Physical therapy had been painful, arduous, and sometimes flat-out torture. But I’d showed up for every single appointment—for myself. Being able to walk out of there for the last time, a smile on my face, pain free, without any lingering limitations, made it all worth it.
“You’re right,” Linda said, stepping away. “I’ll stop blubbering so you can enjoy your party. Did you get some of the pigs in a blanket over there? I wrapped them myself.”
“Not yet, but clearly that’s where I should head.” When I started toward the table in the back, the corner of a streamer caught my foot. Like a baby giraffe on new legs, I went stumbling forward, the contents of my plate spilling all over the floor.
John was fast though. His hand snaked out and caught my arm, keeping me upright. “Careful. I didn’t mean to break a leg today.”
I pinned him with a glare, but if I was being honest, the likelihood of me breaking another limb was pretty damn high.
I spent another hour or so hanging out with the Atlanta PT team. Staff drifted in and out as patients came and went, and Linda fluttered around, making sure none of the chip bowls got too low. There were no more tears, but when it was time to leave, I hugged everyone goodbye at least twice.
Six months earlier, when I’d walked through the doors of Atlanta PT, I had been nervous about what to expect. But as I walked out the doors that afternoon, I had a second family—and a pan of Rice Krispies treats.
Oh, and the final bill that would no doubt be in the mail.
“Oh my God,” Aaron said, snatching the minced garlic from my hand.
“What! You told me to add some.”
He blew out an exasperated breath. “Yes, some, Remi. Some. You’re making baked spaghetti, not a potion to eradicate vampires from the Earth.”
I rolled my eyes. “Currently, I’m more concerned with feeding Bowen something that doesn’t require a warning label than I am with vampires.”
“Yeah, well. The eight seasons of Vampire Diaries you forced me to watch suggests otherwise. But move and let me get in there.” He hurriedly stepped in front of me and began scooping the garlic out of the spaghetti sauce we—he—had made from scratch.
While Mark was excellent on the grill, Aaron was the real Gordon Ramsay in our house. He hadn’t always been a natural, but he’d taught himself out of necessity the first few years when he’d gotten sick of constantly eating takeout or whatever concoction I’d over-seasoned or burned. Luckily, I had been able to strike a deal for Aaron’s help in exchange for Linda’s famous Rice Krispies treats. Or at least what was left of them, since Mark had put a huge dent in them before he’d left for work.
Aaron gave the pan a stir and then brought the spoon to his mouth for a taste. “Okay, I think it’s salvageable. But you are officially banned from the stove.” He made a shooing motion with his hands. “Go on. I’ll be faster without you anyway.”
“What time is your date with Becca?”
He turned his attention back to the sauce, a shy smile tipping the side of his mouth. “Seven.”
Oh yes, he had it bad for the sexy barista he’d met at the coffeehouse. This was only their third date, but it was safe to say he was smitten. It had been so long since I’d seen Aaron genuinely interested in someone that I was worried she was going to break his heart. There was nothing I could do or say to prevent it, so I saved my breath.
“You do realize it’s already five thirty, right?” I asked. “Don’t you need at least two hours to shape your hair into that gel helmet you wear?”
“You keep being a smartass and you can finish this yourself.”
“I’m kidding. You win. No need to get hostile.”
I was almost sure he was kidding too, but just in case, I stole a piece of mozzarella off the cutting board and moved to the far end of the kitchen, out of his way.
“What time is Bowen supposed to be here?” he asked, straining the noodles over the sink.
“Six. He used to cut out early all the time, but he has a new accountant in his office, so he’s been staying until closing all week. Ya know, good impressions and all.”
“Mmm,” he hummed in acknowledgement as he dumped the pasta into a casserole dish. “Things still going well with you two?”
“So, so, so good.” I stole another piece of cheese. “The other day, we actually talked about marriage and kids and stuff.”
He spun toward me so fast I thought he’d burned himself. “What?”
“Yeah. Totally out of the blue.”
“And, um…what did you have to say about that?”
I shrugged. “I told him I needed more time, but I’ll be honest. I kinda like the idea of a future with him.”
