Chapter 23
Grace
“A nd here’s your closet .”
I watched Michael as he slid open the closet door in the bedroom that I’d be occupying in his apartment for who knew how long, far more interested in him than the closet space.
He was nervous, on edge. I wondered again, as I had at least a hundred times since he’d suggested it, about the wisdom of what I was doing.
Was moving in with Michael the best thing to do?
“I can help you get your clothes and things set up later if you want. It will be tough to hang up clothes and unpack boxes one-handed.”
What wasn’t? I’d taken for granted how many things required two hands until I’d only had one to work with.
Not that Michael needed to hear me complain. He was already doing everything possible to help me.
I shot him a smile. “Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”
As I followed Michael back into the living room, I did my best to push back the doubts that lingered in my mind. The last thing I wanted was for Michael to see my hesitation and take it as me not wanting to be there. I did; I just couldn’t help the image in my mind of the balance of our relationship tipping ever more drastically in my favor. It wasn’t fair to Michael, but I just couldn’t seem to stop taking from him.
He'd deny that it mattered, but I couldn’t help the way I felt.
“So,” Michael stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and turned to face me. “What should we do now?”
“Well,” I looked around the living room and the open kitchen that Michael had shown me earlier. “Maybe we could unpack some of my things, then order in dinner and watch a movie or something. I know it’s still early, but I have a feeling I’m going to crash before long.”
After my expected discharge from the hospital the day before – Monday – hadn’t happened, Michael and I had waited most of the day today for it to come through.
When it finally had late this afternoon, Gavin had whisked me down to the patient pick-up entrance in a wheelchair I didn’t need, waited with me while Michael got the car, loaded me in armed with my discharge instructions, and waved us on our way with well wishes for a speedy recovery. Though my nurses and the other staff at the hospital had taken great care of me, I’d been more than happy to leave it behind.
Even if I was realizing as the day wore on that I was far from 100%.
“Sounds good to me,” Michael replied, bringing me back to our conversation. “There’s a great Thai place a few blocks away that delivers if that works for you.”
“Works for me,” I confirmed, then led the way back to my bedroom and the suitcases and boxes waiting to be emptied.
Two hours later, Michael and I sat side-by-side on his couch, our feet resting on the coffee table, eating pot stickers and pad thai, watching a classic mystery that neither of us had seen before.
The waves of tension that had rolled off Michael earlier had subsided. Somewhere between hanging up, folding, and putting away – he hung up and folded, I put away – more clothes than I remembered I had, and laughing at my pink cheeks when he inadvertently grabbed a big handful of my panties out of the suitcase along with a couple t-shirts, Michael had relaxed.
I glanced over at him now, taking advantage of his focus on the movie to let my eyes run over his strong profile, down his toned torso and legs, to his bare feet propped on the coffee table. He was in undeniably amazing physical shape. It was going to be no small task to keep my hands to myself and my eyes where they belonged, especially if he kept being so darn considerate and helpful.
Other than my father, who had come and gone as he pleased, the only men I’d lived with before – my brother and Seth – had been lazy, demanding, thoughtless, and in Ellis’ case, deliberately rude. How different it would be to live with a man like Michael.
As if I’d said his name out loud, Michael’s attention swung from the movie to me.
“What?” he asked, the space between his eyebrows crinkling in the smallest of frowns.
“Not much,” I improvised. “Just wondering if I can talk you out of the last pot sticker, which by my count is technically yours.”
Michael nudged the container with the lone remaining pot sticker closer to me. “All yours.”
As I took it, I let myself imagine...wouldn’t it be nice if he was saying that about himself? That he was all mine?
A girl could dream, couldn’t she?
Maybe moving in with Michael wasn’t such a bad idea after all.