Chapter 23
CARTER
Sarah spends a lot of time at Anna and Miles’s house over the next week. Which is great because that’s one of the biggest reasons she wanted to stay in the States in the first place. To support her family.
The downside is that I’m left with a lot of time to miss her. With the exception of one quick away game in North Carolina, I’ve mostly been home. And somehow, I’ve started measuring time in segments of how long it’s been since I saw Sarah last and how long it’s going to be until I see her again.
When I’m at the driving range with Theo and Holly, I’m wondering if she’s still at the hospital with Anna or if she’s returned home.
When I’m at the rink for practice, I’m imagining her at the park with Poppy and Olive or sneaking into Anna’s pantry for a moment of solitude.
I’m leaving for nine days on the road tomorrow, so tonight, I’m making her dinner.
I’m not an amazing chef by any stretch. But the chicken scallopini I’m making is one my mom used to make all the time, and it’s pretty much foolproof.
Add in some roasted broccolini and the sourdough Sarah made yesterday and it should be a decent meal.
Down the hall, the door to the garage opens and closes, then Sarah appears in the kitchen.
“Hey,” I say as I take in the sight of her.
Her hair is up—I love her hair up—and she’s wearing a cropped t-shirt that reveals a tiny sliver of skin above the waistband of her leggings.
She looks beautiful, like always, but she also looks a little frayed around the edges.
It could just be that she’s tired. She’s been going nonstop the past few weeks, first, with her gallery show, and now with all she’s doing for Anna and Miles.
“Hey,” she says as she drops onto a barstool. “What are you making?”
“Dinner for you if you’re hungry for it,” I say over my shoulder. “Have you eaten?”
“Not yet,” she says. “But you didn’t have to cook for me.”
I take the sauce for the scallopini off the heat and turn off the stove.
“I cooked for us,” I say. “You’ve been working so hard to take care of everyone else. Let me take care of you for a change.” I move to the cutting board and slice off a small piece of the sautéed chicken, dipping it in the sauce before carrying it over to Sarah and offering her a bite.
She takes it, her lips brushing against my fingers before she closes her eyes, letting out a little moan as she chews. “A man of many talents,” she says. “That’s delicious.”
“Don’t get too excited,” I say. “It’s one of about three things I know how to make well.”
She rubs her hands over her face like she’s trying to wake herself up. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“It’s all done,” I say. “I’m plating everything now. But are you okay? We don’t have to do this if you—”
“No, I definitely need to eat,” she says. “And I want to. I’m just tired.” While I plate our food, she moves around the bar and pulls two glasses out of the cabinet, filling them with ice and water. “I kinda got into it with my brother right before I left, so I’m still feeling a little off.”
I carry our plates to the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“It’s just more of the same. He practically cornered me on my way out the door and tried to make me talk to this guy, some teacher he found who also happens to be from Canada.
The poor man was already on the phone, so then I had to very politely extricate myself from a conversation I never wanted to have in the first place.
” Sarah drops into her chair and looks down at her food. “This is amazing, Carter. Thank you.”
I sit down across from her. “He shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that,” I say. But that’s really only part of it. He shouldn’t be pushing her. Insisting that he knows what’s best for her when she’s been perfectly clear about what she wants.
“He’ll figure it out eventually,” she says.
“But it’s really starting to feel less like he wants me to be pragmatic and more like he’s just refusing to see what I do as something real.
Like, do I need to show him my bank statements for him to accept that I already have a real job?
” She gives her head a little shake. “Let’s talk about something else.
I don’t want to give him any more of my headspace tonight. ”
“Okay, how about an update on the Rebecca situation?”
Sarah’s eyes widen. “Um, yes, please. Have you gotten Theo to talk about it?”
Since my run-in with Theo’s ex at the hospital last week, Sarah has been fully invested.
“No,” I say. “But I did talk to Nico. He’s the Jaguars head trainer, and he has a sister who works at Atlanta General.
She asked around, and I guess Rebecca is a travel nurse.
She travels with her best friend, who was one of Anna’s nurses.
That’s what she was doing on the labor and delivery floor.
Anyway, she works in surgery, she’s only been here a couple of weeks, and she could stay anywhere from three to six months. ”
“Have you told Theo any of this?”
“I tried, but he shut me down pretty quickly,” I say. “He doesn’t want to talk about it at all.”
“Poor Theo,” Sarah says.
“For real. I genuinely had no idea she ever even crossed his mind. He’s never talked about her.”
Conversation is easy for the rest of dinner as Sarah grows more and more relaxed. By the time we’re finished, she looks more like herself again. She’s smiling a little more easily, laughing as she tells me all the adorable things Olive has had to say about the new baby.
It’s such a simple thing, but there’s something intoxicating about being the one who makes her feel better. I want that job.
Sarah told me once that I was rescuing her, but the truth is, she really isn’t the kind of woman who needs to be rescued. She’s stronger than she thinks and more talented than she knows. I might be buying her time, but she’s rescuing herself. She’s doing the work.
Still, even if I don’t rescue her, if there’s anything I can do to make the burdens she carries feel lighter, I’m all in.
After we finish, I carry our empty plates to the sink, but Sarah follows, nudging me out of the way with her hip. “You cooked,” she says. “That means I’m doing the dishes.”
“I don’t mind doing them,” I say, stepping to the side to open the dishwasher. “You’re the one who was on your feet all day.”
“Didn’t you have practice this morning?”
I shrug. “Yeah, but that’s just practice.”
“Just practice for a professional athlete is never just anything. You can sit and keep me company, but you aren’t touching a dish.”
She plants herself firmly in front of the sink, arms propped on her hips like she’s guarding her territory and has no intention of moving.
I lift an eyebrow, then reach over her shoulder and pull a plate out of the sink. I load it into the dishwasher—what’s she really going to do about it?—then reach for another.
Sarah’s eyes narrow, then she moves lightning fast, grabbing the hand sprayer and aiming it at me, her other hand poised on the faucet. “Don’t think I won’t do it,” she says, a smile playing around her mouth. “You move one more inch, and I’ll soak you from head to toe.”
“You wouldn’t,” I say as I reach for another dish.
She presses her lips together, then she shoots me with a two-second blast of ice-cold water that hits me square in the chest. Her eyes widen like she can’t quite believe she actually did it.
“Oh, you’re getting it now,” I say, reaching for her, but she’s too fast. She turns the water back on, and this time she doesn’t hold back. She drenches the front of me, squealing and laughing as she out-maneuvers me, jumping this way and that to stay out of my reach.
I stand perfectly still, water dripping off the tip of my nose and trickling down my chest. As close as we’re standing, I have no idea how she managed to stay so dry, but there’s hardly a drop of water on her. The woman has excellent aim.
She looks at me, silent laughter shaking her shoulders, and I can’t help but grin. She reaches for a dish towel sitting on the counter beside the sink and holds it out to me. “Here. It looks like you need this. You have a little water right here.” She touches the tip of her nose.
“Very funny,” I say, taking the towel. I use it to dry my face, then I toss it onto the counter and reach for the hem of my shirt, pulling it up and over my head.
It’s dripping all over the floor, so my decision is mostly practical.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not hoping to get at least a little rise out of Sarah.
I toss the shirt onto the counter beside the towel, watching as her eyes dip to my torso.
I step closer, crowding her against the sink, setting my arms on either side of her. “Do you know what I think?” I say, my voice low.
She licks her lips, eyes glassy as she asks, “What’s that?”
“I think you did that on purpose.”
She lifts her hand to the penny hanging around my neck, picking it up then letting it fall as her fingers graze down my chest to the top of my abs.
My eyes close as goosebumps break out across my skin.
I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore, I just know I don’t want her to ever stop touching me.
“Did what on purpose?” she asks, her voice much too innocent. It’s that little bit of sass in her tone that snaps me back to the moment.
“You won’t distract me out of doing the dishes,” I say. It’s taking all my willpower to make that statement true.
Both her hands are on me now, skimming up my chest and over the tops of my shoulders. “Are you sure about that?” she asks, and it’s all I can do to stay on my feet. She has no idea how much she’s killing me.
“Okay, you’re done,” I say, then I crouch and pick her up, tossing her over my shoulder and carrying her around the island and into the living room.