He was leaning on his crutches, his eyes narrowing a little more with every word she said. He looked at her so long and so hard that she wondered if he could see inside her mind. Taking a deep breath, he shrugged and tilted his head to one side. After a long moment, he finally said, “Her name wasn’t really Miss July.”
“Oh, really? What was her name?”
“I forget.”
This time her laugh was more like a snort, but it relieved the pressure inside her and lightened the moment. His little jest told her that he understood what she was trying to tell him. He understood that she couldn’t let herself get involved with him, not now, not after she’d come so far. He understood, and she was grateful.
“Since I’m the only person you know in Pennsylvania, could I offer you a cup of hot chocolate?”
Will clenched his teeth, feeling a muscle move in his jaw. Her statement about the reason he’d come to Pennsylvania hit home. She was right. He hadn’t come to her because he wanted to start up where they’d left off when they were young. He’d gone to the Fourth Street Rehab Center because he wanted her to help him get his strength and stamina back. He knew she wouldn’t have had to agree to be his physical therapist. Yet she had. It was his turn to be grateful.
“Hot chocolate sounds great, as long as you promise to talk to me while we drink it. Those walls in my apartment really were closing in on me.”
She turned so quickly that her oversize shirt fluttered behind her before settling around her thighs once again. “Hot chocolate and friendly conversation coming right up.”
He assumed the fact that she continued talking meant that she expected him to follow her. He trailed after her, propping himself against the counter in her U-shaped kitchen.
“That claustrophobic sensation you’re experiencing is perfectly normal. People who are paralyzed or suddenly lose their sight or hearing often experience that kind of panic,” she said as she added water to the teakettle and turned on the burner.
“Does it go away?” he asked.
“Usually,” she said, reaching onto a shelf for two mugs.
Will flattened his palm against the ceramictile counter, smoothing his hand over the cool, shiny surface. Fluffy green area rugs were scattered here and there over the vinyl floor. The table was wood, the chairs cane backed. Woven shades covered the windows, and in the middle of it all, Krista stood at the stove pouring instant hot chocolate into mugs, her hair a riot of waves, her purple shirt clinging to her softly rounded form.
“How long have you lived here?” he asked.
“Three years,” she said, turning around to lean on the counter on the other side of the kitchen.
“Did you live here with Tommy’s father?”
She shook her head slowly. “That relationship ended before Tommy was born. After that, my wandering days were over.”
Will didn’t understand why her words struck such a chord inside him. Her statement was simple enough, but it seemed to be filled with hidden meaning.
“Decorators might think this room is a little too much,” she confessed, obviously attempting to change the subject. “But I like it. Most people decorate with color. I’m a texture person. It has to feel good in order for me to like it.”
He saw her suck in a quick breath as if she’d just realized what she’d said. He could have said something provocative. The Lord only knew how many possibilities flitted through his mind. She’d said she was a texture person. He imagined the texture of her palm gliding over his arm, up to his shoulders and across his chest. He imagined her fingers dipping to the center of his abdomen, and wandering farther.
They both jumped when the teakettle whistled, then grinned sheepishly when she removed it from the burner. While she stirred boiling water into the hot cocoa mix, Will looked on, trying to get his screaming hormones in check. He wanted Krista, but he knew she was right. He hadn’t come here, to Allentown in general or here tonight in particular, to start something. Besides, she’d told him in a couple of different ways that she wasn’t looking for a relationship. Once she’d said she’d sworn off men. Another time she’d told him that theirs would be strictly a patient/therapist relationship. Just now, she’d offered friendship in a roundabout way. Under the circumstances, Will didn’t see how he could turn it down or expect anything more.
She placed the mug of hot cocoa on the counter. Motioning to the low-backed bar stool behind him, she said, “Let’s sit in here.”
Will rounded the counter and leaned into the chair. After propping his crutches against the counter, he took a sip of cocoa and said, “Mmm. Tastes good.”
She nodded. “Hot chocolate is okay, but I dream about coffee.”
“You dream about coffee?”
She nodded again. “My one and only weakness.”
Will eyed her over the rim of his mug and said, “I know, I know. You used to have two, but you gave up men.”
He wasn’t sure he liked the fact that men had been easier for her to give up than coffee. “I can understand why you’re happy with your life, Krista. I mean, you have a cute kid and a nice house and a good job. But why would you give up men completely?”
Krista couldn’t help laughing at Will’s dark expression. Placing her hand on his arm, she said, “You make it sound like I gave up candy for Lent. I didn’t do it for penance, Will. I did it to find my own happiness.” Lifting her hand from his arm, she placed her palm over her heart.
“And did you find your own happiness?” he asked quietly.
She looked around her at her kitchen with all its textures, at the clutter on the counter near the phone, at the field-trip form she’d signed for Tommy and the refrigerator covered with his drawings. She eyed the watch she wore for work and her name badge she always put on just before she walked out the door.
“Not the kind I thought I always wanted, but yes,” she replied, keenly aware of his scrutiny. “I have.”
After a long silence while they both sipped their hot chocolate, she asked, “Have you?”
Will thought about her question. Had he found happiness? At times he was happy enough. He knew he was going to be thrilled when he could walk on his own again. But that wasn’t what she’d meant. He’d had a happy childhood and plenty of happy times. Until these past three months, he hadn’t given happiness much thought. Until tonight, he’d never put his feelings on the subject into words.
Smoothing his finger up and down the handle on his mug of hot cocoa, he said, “I was young and cocky when the Detroit Cougars drafted me into the minor leagues. When I made it to the major leagues the following year, I thought I was on top of the world, thought I was invincible. For three years, I was. Then I had a bad season, tore up my knee. My swing was off. So was my timing. Before I knew it, they traded me to the New York Titans, traded me like stamps or marbles. That brought me down a peg or two, believe me.”
“That’s the way of the game. You play by the rules. Nothing personal, right?” she said quietly.
Nothing personal. Will glanced sideways at her, wondering what she was thinking. “I guess pro sports is a long way from physical therapy, huh?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she answered. “They both have their rules. I think people should do what they enjoy.”
She tipped her mug up and drank the last of her cocoa. Mesmerized, Will stared at her slender neck as she swallowed, and then at her mouth as she flicked her tongue across her upper lip. She’d said people should do what they enjoyed. He’d enjoy tasting the chocolate on her lips.
His heart began to hammer in his chest and his breathing deepened as he