“What am I going to do with all this?” Sam leaned against the kitchen counter and shook his head in amazement at the plastic containers full of sugar cookies, bowls of frosting in pastel colors and every type of sprinkle imaginable. He and Celeste had just returned from his Monday therapy session. For two days he hadn’t stopped thinking about their kiss. In fact, he couldn’t get Celeste off his mind. And he needed to. Soon.
“Um, wow.” Celeste crossed her arms over her chest and bit her lower lip, but her eyes danced with laughter. Parker played with a toy car on the floor.
“Aunt Sally’s finally lost it.”
“Did she mention anything about this to you?”
“Nope. No, she did not.” He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “Aunt Sally texted me she was dropping something off, but what was she thinking? There’s enough sugar here to give someone diabetes.”
“Is that a note?” Celeste pointed to a sheet of paper wedged under a package of plastic pastry bags. He scanned the note.
I made too many cookies and thought that darling baby might enjoy decorating them with his pretty mama and you. Love, Aunt Sally.
Uneasiness prickled over his skin. As much as he wanted to spend the day decorating cookies with Celeste and Parker, he knew it wasn’t wise. He had to stop thinking about himself and start thinking about what was best for her. Which wasn’t him.
She plucked the paper from his hand. “Isn’t that sweet? Thinking of Parker.”
Thinking of setting him up with Celeste was more like it. His aunt had a history of matchmaking. Didn’t his aunt realize Celeste was special? That she needed a guy who could be there for her in ways he couldn’t? Her slender arms carried too much every day as it was. He would not be another burden on her.
“Why don’t you change, and I’ll get everything ready?” Her clear brown eyes held no questions or concerns. Just anticipation.
What was he supposed to do now? Tell her to hit the road? That she couldn’t stay because his heart was getting in way too deep? Yeah, that would go over well.
“Okay.”
When he’d changed, he paused a moment in the doorway. Celeste had laid the cookies out on wax paper at the dining table. Parker was strapped into his portable booster seat. He nibbled on one cookie and banged another against the table. She was spooning the icing into the pastry bags. The Christmas tree twinkled beside them.
What had been an empty cottage had become a warm, inviting home.
What would it hurt if he simply enjoyed being with them today?
He took a seat next to Parker and pretended to take a bite from his cookie. Parker squealed, snatching the cookie back. Then he thrust it back to Sam, and Sam laughed, pretending to take another bite. The boy laughed harder. Sam made gobbling noises, egging him on.
Celeste set the bags of frosting on the table, and he almost caught his breath. She looked happy. Beautiful.
He cleared his throat. “What do you do with this?” Picking up a squishy bag full of baby blue frosting, he tried to shake his head of all the warm fuzzy feelings invading him.
Her fingers brushed his as she demonstrated how to pipe the icing onto the cookie. “Easy, huh?”
“Yeah.” It was. Easy. All of this was too easy.
And it wouldn’t last.
He knew better than to count on it. It was one thing to be friends, another to kiss her, and still another to fall in love. He’d never been in love before. He’d liked casual dating, enjoyed dinner and a movie. This...this doing regular everyday stuff with Celeste and Parker compelled him. He’d rather hang out and decorate cookies with them than anything else. But it wasn’t fair to her.
Parker stared up at him through big hopeful eyes, the cookie stretched toward Sam’s mouth. Once more he pretended to gobble the cookie.
“Are you going to help or do I have to crack the whip?” Celeste popped her hand on her hip in mock anger.
“Okay, I’ll get at it, boss.” He frosted a snowman cookie and sifted colored sugar on top. Celeste sat across from him, and she carefully decorated the cutout cookies. After a while, Parker got antsy, so she took him out of the high chair and let him play with his car again.
Contentment crept up on him. He watched Celeste’s lips curve into a slight smile as she put the finishing touches on a cookie shaped like a snowflake. Simple pleasures. Ones he craved. The only way he could justify spending all this time together was if he knew for sure he’d be walking on his own soon.
Maybe it was time to ask Dr. Stepmeyer about his progress. How long would it be before he could have a real life?
* * *
Another Wednesday at physical therapy, another round of torture.
With his right leg, Sam lifted the exercise table’s torque arm, straining to get it high enough. His thigh muscles protested, but not as much as his stiff knee. Sweat dripped down both sides of his forehead. At least his hour was almost up.
He ground out the remaining sets and slumped, reaching for the towel and water he kept nearby. After a long drink, he sucked in another breath and willed his legs to stop twitching and shooting fire.
Dr. Stepmeyer returned. He stretched his neck from side to side. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think it’s working?”
“Yes. Don’t you? I thought your progress was obvious.” She handed him his crutches and strolled to the treatment table. When he was ready, she hooked up the electrodes and started the machine.
“You came in here five weeks ago in a wheelchair. You could barely stand on your left leg and couldn’t put any weight on your right. Your left leg is strong now. Much stronger than it was. The right knee still can’t take much pressure, but yes, your time and effort are paying off.”
“I need to go back to work.”
“I figured.” She sat on the stool next to him, her clipboard in her lap. “Have you looked at your leg lately, Sam?”
He glanced down. Purple scars spiraled around it, and parts of his thigh and knee appeared to have been carved out, chunks missing. “Yeah. What about it?”
“We see the outside, but we don’t know what’s going on inside. When is your next doctor appointment?”
His leg may be ugly, but it was whole. He’d purposely tried not to think about what was going on inside it. The nerve was supposed to reconnect. That was the whole point of the nerve graft. “Dr. Curtis warned me healing would be slow.”
“He was right,” she said, nodding. “But these surgeries don’t always restore full function. Dr. Curtis warned you about that, too.”
“What are you saying?” he snapped. The odors of the room assaulted him—sweat, sweat and more sweat.
“I’m saying, keep working hard. Make an appointment with him before you go back to work.”
“I’m going back in January.”
“Okay. But be careful. And protect your leg as much as possible.” She set the clipboard down and swiped her tablet. Clicking her tongue, she read whatever was on the screen. “During our initial interview, you told me you spent seventy-five percent of the workday on your feet before the accident. Will you modify that?”
He sighed. “I’ll try.”
“You’re going to have to do more than try, Sam. Don’t expect work to be the same.”
“Nothing is the same, is it?” He grabbed the water bottle and took another drink. If only she’d hook the electrodes up to his flaming emotions. Release the tension every word she said brought on. “I’m going to be using a cane soon. I have to.”
“You’re not ready.” Her mouth twisted in disapproval.
“I am ready. Ready to move on with my life. The crutches are impossible. I can’t use my hands for anything, and I’m tired of having to wear a man-purse to carry something from one room to another. How can I shake a customer’s hand if I’m worried my crutches will fall?”
“That’s why you need to talk to Dr. Curtis before returning to work.”
“So what are you saying? If he doesn’t clear me, I’m stuck at home?”
“I don’t know. That’s your call. You might be better off using the wheelchair at work. You can keep coming here three times a week and use the crutches at home.”
“I’m not going to work in a wheelchair.” He stared at the wall. All this work and for what? Nothing?
“Hey, normally I’d agree with you. I want you out of the wheelchair as much as possible. But I don’t want you collapsing on the floor with a muscle strain. Or worse. Think about it.”
Dr. Stepmeyer shut off the machine, carefully detached the electrodes and told him to go down the hall.
If this place had a punching bag, he was ready to go nine rounds with it. Instead, he made his way to the hall. All the prayers he’d pleaded last year roared back. How many times had he begged to be blessed with the ability to walk on his own?
The urge to ask again hit him hard, but he shook it away.
He didn’t care that God ignored him or that Dr. Stepmeyer thought he should wait. He was tired of waiting for his life to turn around.
He’d go back to work. He’d stay on his crutches. Soon, he’d walk with a cane.
He’d show them all.
* * *
“How did it go?” Celeste drove out of the physical rehab center’s parking lot after Sam buckled himself in. They’d decided to make their first appearance at Lake Endwell Library today to pick up Christmas picture books for Parker. It had been over a year since Celeste had been in a library or bookstore, and she couldn’t wait.
“It went fine.” Sam kept his head turned away, staring out his window. The way he said it told her it was not fine.
“Did something happen?” She turned left at the stoplight on their way out of the city. The air had a bite to it, and the snow from the weekend still covered the ground. Had it been only four days since he’d kissed her? She’d mentally relived it about four hundred times since then, but who was counting? He’d been so wonderful with Parker when they’d decorated the cookies, but she’d been a wee bit disappointed that he’d kept his distance from her. He certainly hadn’t attempted to kiss her again.
“No,” he barked. “Let’s drop it.”
She sat up straighter. Well, then.
Tempted to ask, to push him for details, she gritted her teeth and cranked the country music louder.
He flicked the radio off.
“What is wrong with you?” She didn’t even try to keep the exasperation out of her tone.
“Nothing.”
“Do you still want to go to the library?” Please say yes.
“Why wouldn’t I?” He crossed his arms over his chest, not looking at her.
“You tell me.”
He didn’t respond.
Wonderful.
She’d gone into full-blown dreamy schoolgirl mode, unable to contain her enthusiasm about seeing Sam again. And Sam? Seemed as enthusiastic as an angry raccoon.
But why?
The miles sped by without conversation. Bare trees and evergreens lined the side of the road. As they neared Lake Endwell, her irritation mounted.
She hated the silent treatment. Didn’t she have enough to worry about right now? Like the upcoming evaluation by her plastic surgeon? And what about her home life? She was regularly staying up past midnight to meet her clients’ needs and was so tired in the afternoon she’d taken to napping with Parker. She’d gotten an email this morning from her top client. They wanted to double her hours after the holidays. How was she going to keep up?
With one hand on the steering wheel, she rubbed her left temple. The work didn’t fulfill her. Sure, she was organized and good at her job, but she found it boring. She wanted to share her love of history with others as a teacher. If she was this busy trying to raise Parker and make ends meet, how would she find time to take the online courses she needed to get certified?
Lake Endwell Library came into view. She found a spot, and minutes later, with Parker in her arms, she held the door open for Sam and followed him inside.
It smelled like books. She closed her eyes and smiled. Books—the best smell in the world.
“Mama! Mama!” Parker bounced in her arms. She set him down, keeping a firm hold on his hand.
“Stay with me, Parker. Let’s go find the children’s section.” She didn’t bother looking Sam’s way as she led Parker to the corner with hot-air balloons painted on the walls. Miniature hot-air balloons in assorted primary colors hung from the ceiling, too. Very cute.
Parker toddled to a table with wooden puzzles. Celeste helped him sit in a tiny chair. She browsed the picture books while he played. An adorable Christmas book with a big brown bear on the cover caught her eye. She flipped through, smiling at the beautiful illustrations. How did artists do it? Create such imaginative pages conveying different moods?
Within minutes she’d collected a pile of picture books. Parker was still happily clanging the big wooden puzzle pieces against the forms. Someone had left a stack of magazines and books on the table, so she sat in one of the tiny chairs and eyed the titles.
A celebrity magazine, a Southern cookbook, two mystery novels and a nonfiction book. The nonfiction piqued her interest. Something about being okay after life falling apart.
She itched to pick it up and read the back cover, but what if the person who’d selected it came back? Would they think she was poaching their book?
With a turn of her head to the left then the right, she tried to locate who might be checking out this pile. A librarian stood behind a counter. An older man near the fireplace read a newspaper with one ankle on his knee. Sam stood in front of the shelves with the DVDs. Her gaze lingered on his broad shoulders.
What had put him in such a bad mood? She nibbled her fingernail. Was it something she’d said?
She snatched the book. It was written from a Christian viewpoint. She sighed. It probably was going to drone on about how life will be perfect if you just trust in God enough.
Life wasn’t perfect. No matter how much she trusted God.
After flipping it over, she read the opening line of the back cover. Life isn’t perfect for Christians or anyone.
Huh. Maybe she should give this one a try.
The bullet points reiterated the theme: God will help you survive any circumstances. It promised the secrets of having peace regardless of your trials and recognizing how something good can come from something bad.
She needed this book.
Opening to the first chapter, she began reading. And she didn’t look up until Sam stood next to her. She sensed his presence before he cleared his throat. “Are you ready?”
“Sure.” She rose, checking on Parker. He still sat at the table, but now he was flipping the pages of a board book with a caterpillar on the cover. “Did you get what you wanted?”
“Yeah.” His posture wasn’t as stiff as earlier.
“Would you watch him for me while I check out?” Celeste hauled the picture books into her arms, and she set the nonfiction back on the other pile.
“Of course.”
She walked in the direction of the front desk, but on a whim, she turned to the computer. Maybe the library had more than one copy of the book she’d left on the table. If not, she could put a hold on it. She typed in a search of the title, and when she saw they had another one available, she almost raised her hand for a fist pump. It took only a minute to find the book.
At the checkout desk, the librarian blinked when she registered her scars, but Celeste just smiled. Books made everything better. She didn’t have the energy to be self-conscious, not when she couldn’t wait to carve out a few hours to read.
She wanted to find out how God could make something good come out of something so bad. Was it even possible?
“I’m all set.” She approached Sam and Parker. With one hand full of books, she attempted to pick Parker up. She almost lost her balance, but on the second try, she settled him on her hip. Kissed his soft cheek. “You ready to go home?”
He wrapped his arms around her neck.
They left the warmth of the library for the cold wind outdoors. Strange, but having the book in her possession made her not care if Sam was grumpy or mad at her. She didn’t want to analyze his mood.
“Do you need anything else?” She started the van. “Want me to stop anywhere?”
“No. I’m ready to go home.”
Disappointed, she nodded. He didn’t want to be with her. Good. She had a book to read. Work to do. Her life to figure out.
The problem? It was all easier with Sam by her side.
Even if she shoved her romantic feelings underground, she couldn’t imagine forging forward with her new life if Sam wasn’t a part of it.
She glanced at his profile. Serious. Reflective.
Unfortunately, she had no guarantees their friendship would last.