Page 47 of Summer Ever After

He chuckled. “Patience comes with practice.” He let his eyes linger on her just a second longer than he should have. “Besides, it feels good to take something broken and make it whole again.”

Something flickered across her face, quick and vulnerable, and he forced himself to look back at the hutch instead of asking her what she was thinking.

She stood up suddenly and walked over to rinse her coffee cup.

“I’ve got this. Why don’t you go rest?” He’d seen her holding back a yawn. The bruises on her arms and face were a light yellow already and the cuts no longer needed bandages. There were still dark circles under her eyes, hinting that she still needed rest. “You can head in and watch television if you want.” He finished cleaning her mug.

“Thanks,” she said, touching his arm. “I am still tired. I think I may just head upstairs and rest a little more.”

“Good,” he said, leaning back, satisfaction written across his face. “That’s the only item on your agenda. Rest. Doctor’s orders.”

Her brow arched. “You’re not a doctor.”

“No,” he said, his mouth twitching into a grin, “but I’m pretty damn good at looking out for people who need it.”

He watched her go before starting in on his normal day-off chore list. For the next few hours, he remained outside, feeding, watering, and exercising all of the animals.

By lunchtime, he was starving and headed inside, where Beth was fast asleep on the sofa with the news playing softly on the television. As quiet as he could, he headed into the kitchen to fix them some lunch.

He ended up making them some sandwiches, which he cut diagonally on a tray like his mother used to do when he stayed home sick from school. He also put out some potato salad he’d bought at the store and some crackers and tuna dip. He had finished setting the table and putting a few of the flowers she’d gotten in the hospital in the center of the table when Beth walked in.

“Are you hungry?”

Beth nodded and he pulled out the chair for her.

“Tea or lemonade?” he asked, pouring himself a glass of tea.

“Tea.” She watched him as he worked. “This looks amazing,” she said when he sat across from her. “Do you always go all out for every meal?”

He chuckled. “No, but I’m hoping to impress you.” He wiggled his eyebrows, making her smile grow. “I figured it was the least I could do to make you feel more at home.”

“At home, I would have had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with potatoes chips and a soda. This is more like being waited on hand and foot.”

“I could stop?” he teased.

“Only if you get tired of it.” She laughed.

She seemed steadier now, as if the relaxing morning had done her a world of good.

“After lunch, do you want some help putting all your new things away?” he asked as they ate.

She glanced towards the stairs and then shrugged. “If you have nothing better to do. I hung a few things up, but…” She held up her right hand, still covered in bruises.

He nodded. “I’d be happy to help.”

It took them nearly an hour to sort through her new things. Most were still in their packages or the bags they’d been delivered in. While she sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, he hung shirts in the empty closet and folded shorts, pants, socks, and pajamas and put them into the drawers of the dresser. She’d pull a tag loose here, smooth a sleeve there, her voice soft as she admitted she’d forgotten what it felt like to own clothes that someone else had picked out for her. He didn’t say anything to that, just kept busy making sure everything was lined up neatly.

At some point, her answers slowed, words trailing off, and he realized that she’d laid down and drifted off to sleep while lying sideways on the comforter, her eyes closed, breaths even. The plastic tags still littered the floor, but he didn’t care. He tugged the blanket over her shoulders and stood there a long moment, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the tension finally eased from her face.

Downstairs, he busied himself cleaning up the lunch mess. Then he tossed the shopping bags, broke down some boxes in the garage, wiped counters that didn’t need wiping, and mopped the floors. Anything to keep his hands moving, because if he stopped, he’d picture the smoke, the flames.

He knew it was going to be a long week trying not to hover while she healed.

When the sun dipped low over the tree line, Aaron finally ran out of pointless chores to keep his hands busy. He found himself leaning against the counter in the kitchen, listening for the sound of movement upstairs. He’d almost convinced himself she’d sleep through dinner when he heard footsteps on the stairs.

Beth appeared in the doorway, her hair mussed from her nap, cheeks still pink with sleep. She rubbed her eyes like she wasn’t sure if she should apologize for dozing off.

“Hey,” he said easily, pushing off the counter. “You look rested.”