He looked nervous and anxious as he started to talk, but his story pulled hard on my heartstrings. I knew what it was like to want to run when things got hard.
I had initially thought it might be a little petty of me to act like nothing was wrong and be the better person by keeping a smile on my face and offering him food. But now, there was no pettiness about it. I wanted to take care of him. I wanted to console him. I wanted to make sure he knew I had no intention of being yet another person in his life that he tried to get close to and then went away.
That all flew in the face of what I thought our meeting would be when he showed up. I had thought that I would hear him out and then move on. We’d had incredible sex, and that would be it. But as he continued, I felt like maybe there was something else there. Something I could work with. Something we could use to continue to build onto.
Though I kept telling myself that there were too many things to keep it from working. Not just the age difference either. That didn’t actually bother me that much, but it might bother others. And the acknowledgment would bother people would probably stop him from giving his entire attention to it. I understood that. He was a strong, resilient man to get where he was after all he had been through, but part of his path had been to make sure he didn’t damage the few relationships he depended on. Pissing off Wendy would do that, and if he were to date me, there was a distinct possibility of doing that.
The self-deprecating grin when he asked if he deserved cookies was enough to wipe almost all of it away. All of it—the doubt, the sadness, and the questions—gone. There was a confidence just under the surface of this man, waiting to be tapped. He was so much more than he allowed himself to see.
I could see it, though. And I couldn’t get enough of it.
I brought the cookies out and offered for him to stay for lunch. He agreed as long as I cooked, and I went back into the kitchen to find something to make. For the first time in a long while, nervousness was taking over. My mind was a blank on what I could make. It had to be something I was good at and could do on one foot without much trouble. It also had to be something light enough that it left the possibility of other things available afterward.
Such ridiculous thoughts. I wasn’t planning on bringing him back to bed.
I just wanted the option.
In the end, I chose sandwiches. It wasn’t cooking, really, since I was just frying up bacon and broiling bread and the cheese on top, but it was something. Apparently, he was completely in the dark about cooking, so whatever I did was going to look good anyway. As I hobbled back out to the dining room table a few minutes later, I saw that he was nearly finished with his Coke and sat the sandwiches down on the table.
“Need another Coke?” I asked.
“I can get it. You sit down,” he said. “Where are they?”
“The fridge. I can get it.”
“No,” he said. “You have already been far too kind. At least let me do this.”
I nodded, and he went to grab drinks, bringing them back and popping the cans open for us.
“This looks delicious,” he said. “I don’t usually get sandwiches that aren’t from Dina’s or fast food. Or just peanut butter and jelly.”
“I can make a mean sandwich,” I said. “Dee refuses to make her own usually. I have to. Or did, until the whole leg thing. I cashed in a bunch of IOUs on meals with her when I came here.”
I expected laughter, but he was looking at me with concern in his eyes. He nodded and grimaced a little, empathizing in a way I didn’t expect.
“I can imagine,” he said.
“It’s okay. It’s funny.”
He seemed to stop, a slight grin pulling at one side of his lips again. It made me breathe heavier just watching him do that.
“You are a remarkable woman,” he said. “Do you know that?”
I felt the heat rush across my cheeks as I smiled. He took a bite of the sandwich, and just when I thought I was gaining control of myself, he moaned. It was enough that I had to sit my own sandwich down and focus on breathing.
“Good?” I asked when I felt my voice return.
“Incredible,” he rumbled.
“Good,” I said. I took a big bite of my sandwich and realized I wasn’t going to be able to take it anymore. I patted my lips with a napkin and then maneuvered so I could stand again. Grabbing my crutch, I quietly made my way back through the kitchen toward my room. “Just a moment, please,” I said as I walked away.