“That’s a lot.” If only I’d been just a little bit closer to her. If only I had never planted that fake snake on her deck then teased her about it later.
When I pull into my driveway, Meg glances my way, confusion in her pale blue eyes. “You aren’t taking me home?”
“Not until you’re a little more mobile.” And until I’m sure Russet has gotten the message.
Meg draws a shaky sigh and looks away. “One night, and then I’ll be fine. You can easily check on me if you’re so worried.”
“You are welcome to stay with me as long as you need to.” I don’t want her to think I’m keeping her from going home. But I’m also not letting her out of my sight. And that’s easier to do at my place.
Meg doesn’t say anything when I come around and help her with the crutches. This time I’m prepared for the feel of her in my arms, and I stay focused on helping her down without jostling her too much. She slips the crutches into place and takes a mini step, then another.
“You good?” I reach for her bags.
“Totally.”
On the two steps to my porch, I stay at her side, ready to help, but her jaw is clenched in determination.
Inside my house she’s still silent when I get her set up on the couch. “Hungry?” It’s past supper time and I don’t think she’s eaten anything.
Her apprehensive eyes find mine, and she nods.
I spin away and get to work in the kitchen. “Pasta and red sauce okay?” I call out.
“Sounds great,” she replies.
“How about some cran-raspberry juice? Or a soda?” I call out, leaning into my fridge.
“You have cran-raspberry juice?”
Like I didn’t notice how she guzzled the one we got her last night? “Yep. Big juice drinkers around here.”
She doesn’t reply, but I pour her a glass and add a few ice cubes and drop in one of Greta’s metal straws on my way back to the couch.
“Thank you,” she says. Her cheeks are still flushed but she’s breathing easier. In the low evening light of my living room, her pale blue eyes look almost violet.
Our fingertips brush, and a current of heat pops under my skin. “Welcome.”
Supper is a simple garlicky tomato cream sauce and spaghetti. Not fancy but a solid weeknight meal I could make in my sleep because it’s one of Greta’s favorites.
I’m just tossing our salad when my phone chimes with a text in the group chat I share with my siblings.
EVERETT:
She said yes!
There’s a picture, probably taken by Logan, of Everett with his lips pressed to Vivian’s, his arm wrapped tight around her waist and the diamond on her finger sparkling in the sunshine.
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. I send a quick CONGRATS while the screen fills with messages from my siblings.
SEPP:
Yes!!!!
EDIE:
Did you set a date?
EVERETT:
