Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Panting, I grope for the bottle of Advil and the water Linden left for me, my fingers shaking.
Once I’ve swallowed a clump of the pills, I lay back and try to calm myself with some deep breaths.
A tear slips past my temples but I quickly swat it away.
The pain is only physical. I can endure.
It’s a small price to pay for being alive.
It will get better.
Maybe I shouldn’t have refused the prescription pain meds, but I hated how foggy-headed and listless they made me feel. And itchy. They were necessary for a time, and I’m grateful, but I’m done feeling like a zombie.
While I work to steady my breathing, I picture swimming in the lake and the calm, cool water washing away all my worries. I imagine the bright stars reflecting off the black surface like the sparks from a thousand tiny flares. The haunting melody of a loon announcing the dawn .
The house creaks. Is Linden awake? Then I remember he’s outside. Does he ever get cold sleeping out there?
During my fever dreams in the hospital, was it his fingertips stroking my sweaty brow, his calm voice telling me everything was going to be okay?
It’s impossible to reconcile this version of him with the inconsiderate jackass who has disturbed my peace with the zing!
of his table saw or thwack! of his hammer, the version that laughed so hard when I threw that fake snake at his head he had to brace himself against the side of his house.
Don’t tell me those pranks are his version of flirting .
Or did the scuffle outside The Limelight flip our whole Feuding Neighbor situation inside out? Is it because he’s a firefighter, and rescuing and helping people is second nature to him? I don’t love the idea that he sees me as some kind of damsel in distress.
I can rescue myself, thank you very much. Though what if he hadn’t been working next to me planting baby trees? What if I’d been alone?
When I wake again, pale light is streaming in through the windows, and my phone is buzzing. The pain in my leg and hip is hot and angry but it’s a little better than last night. That’ll change when I start moving.
“Hello?” I croak into my phone.
“I only have ten minutes,” Quinn says in a rushed clip. In the background are boarding call announcements and conversation snippets from passing travelers. She’s got a quick flip in L.A. this morning. “How are you feeling?”
I release a full breath. “Better.”
“How’s your caretaker?”
I rub my temple. I don’t know how to talk about this, especially with Linden probably within earshot. “He made me dinner and tucked me in.”
“With an orgasm? ”
I cringe. Good thing she’s not on speaker. “No.” It comes out like a groan.
“It’s the least he could do,” she teases.
My stomach pirouettes. “I think saving my life more than covers it.” And I don’t blame Linden for a freak accident that could have happened to anyone.
Quinn huffs a dramatic sigh. “Text me later.”
We end the call and I draw the covers back. The scent of coffee and something buttery is writing a love letter to my stomach.
Using these crutches gives me a new level of empathy for people with injuries.
The doctor told me that without the anti-venom, I would have surely lost my leg, if not my life.
And without my good health insurance, I’d be in debt for the next twenty years .
I shudder thinking about the horrible ways the poison would have shut down my organs one by one and liquefied me from the inside out. I should not have googled it.
After a visit to the bathroom, I wash my face in the sink and pull back my hair, but it’s dry and frizzy thanks to the hospital’s industrial-strength shampoo.
Today, I will insist on going home so I can take a shower in my own bathroom.
Though the idea of navigating the many sets of stairs and the uneven ground between Linden’s house and mine makes my me want to curl up right here on the floor and take a nap.
Back in the guest room, I wrestle with my shorts, then I have to rest for a full minute before I have the energy to put on my bra and pull on a hoodie.
When I swing into the kitchen, Linden is ladling pancake batter onto a cast iron griddle, filling the air with the scent of sizzling butter and sourdough.
There’s a cup of coffee next to him. I scan the kitchen counter for the coffeemaker. It’s half full. Hallelujah .
“Morning,” Linden says as I continue toward the coffeemaker. “How are you feeling? ”
Today’s shirt is pale gray with a pink winged pig and NEVER SAY NEVER printed below. He’s wearing dark Levis and his feet are bare on the polished wood floor.
“Not terrible.”
“Coffee?” He spins from the griddle and pulls down a coffee mug from the shelf before I can get there.
“Thanks,” I say while he pours it.
“Cream, sugar?” He sets the mug on the counter, in front of one of the stools.
“I’ll take cream, please.” I settle on the stool and set my crutches on the other one.
Linden leans into the fridge and retrieves a pint of half and half.
I add a glug then bring the mug to my lips. After seven years as a flight attendant, I am not picky, but I’m relieved Linden’s coffee is good and strong.
He flips the pancake and stirs something thick and purplish in a small saucepan. “Sleep okay?”
My shin is starting to throb. I should move to the couch so I can prop it up, but I don’t know how I’m going to crutch over there with my coffee. “Not bad.”
His brows knit together.
“Nothing against your place,” I say. “I would have woken up at home too.”
He winces. “Still hurts a lot, doesn’t it?”
“It’s fine.” I sip from my coffee. “A little better than yesterday.”
He retrieves a platter of pancakes from the oven and adds the new one to it. He must be hungry because there are at least five thick pancakes stacked there.
“Need help getting outside?” He nods toward his deck.
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. I don’t think him touching me right now is a good idea.
“Okay. I’ll bring everything out. ”
I take another sip from my coffee before leaving it behind so I can swing out to the picnic table. The cool morning air makes my lungs judder but the fresh air is another thing I’m never taking for granted again.
The table has been set with cloth napkins and the same dark green placemats as last night. When I get there, Kody leaps onto the deck and dashes for my ankles.
“Hey, boy.” Thankfully, he’s brought no gift this morning.
I set my crutches against the table and lower sideways to the bench seat, tucking my right leg underneath but keeping my left one propped on my heel.
I tap the space between my thighs and Kody leaps onto the bench.
I stroke his sun-warmed, silky fur. He arches his back and starts purring.
If I wasn’t about to be treated to breakfast, I would cradle him in my lap and love on him properly.
My phone buzzes in my hoodie pocket. I peek at the screen—it’s a voicemail from Jordan.
I keep petting Kody while lifting the phone to my ear.
“Megs, I’m so sorry,” Jordan says in the bright tone that always earns him extra smiles from many of our female passengers.
“But something’s come up the weekend of your dad’s party.
I won’t be able to make it. Please forgive me?
” When he draws out the last word, I can picture his toothy grimace.
I scrunch my eyes shut as frustration chews at my insides. Damn damn damn.
“I fed the monster this morning and he still attacked me,” Linden says, coming up behind me.
“He can sense your distrust.” I set my phone down and stroke behind Kody’s ears with both hands. His eyelids droop in bliss and his purring turns deep and languid.
Linden frowns at my phone, then sets my coffee in front of me and places the pancakes and a small pitcher in the center of the table. He moves the chair I used last night into place so I can keep my leg extended. When I try to lift it, pain shoots through my kneecap and lashes my hip .
“Let me help,” Linden says when I open my eyes, panting.
I force down the apprehension in my chest and give him a nod.
Linden cradles my leg in his big hands and lowers it to the chair. Having it elevated brings a little dose of relief, and once I’m set up, my stomach gives an urgent growl.
Linden settles in across from me and tucks his napkin onto his lap.
I bring a steaming pancake to my plate. They smell heavenly. “Thanks for feeding Kody. And making breakfast. This looks amazing.”
“What else can I do for you today?” he asks, transferring two pancakes to his plate.
“I’d like to go home and take a shower.”
Linden pours a swirl of a thick blueberry syrup over his pancake.
When the last drop clings to the spout, he swipes it with his thumb and sucks it into his mouth.
It’s quick and automatic, the kind of habit many years in the making and not meant to be sexy.
So why is heat coiling low in my belly and I can’t seem to look away?
“Why not use my bathtub?” he asks.
I take a turn with the pitcher, the sweet-earthy scent of warmed blueberries making my mouth water. “Stairs are kind of intimidating right now.”
He forks a wedge-shaped bite of the pancake stack and lifts it to his lips. “Not if I help.”
Heat races up my neck at the thought of his big hands on my body, but I focus on cutting a bite. “Do all firefighters cook like this?”
“We take turns, so everyone has at least a couple of good meals in their repertoire.”
I slide a bite into my mouth. “Oh wow,” I say, covering my lips with my fingers. The sourdough pancakes are fluffy without being pasty, and the blueberry syrup is sweet enough to complement the hint of sour. It’s heaven.
He gives me a little smirk and puffs out his chest a little.
We eat in silence for a few moments. Maybe it’s a sign my body is healing because nothing has ever tasted this good.
“Did you get bad news?” He nods at my phone then reaches for his coffee.