Carpentry and Cocktails

by Smartypants Romance

  Levi's eyes focused on the menu, then he glanced meaningfully down at his watch.

  I gave him a level look, unable to glare without drawing attention to the fact that I knew him. And no way was I introducing Levi into this moment. Thankfully, he'd known me long enough that he needed no more from me. He held up his hands and stepped back. Yes, my shift was technically over, but his impatient ass could wait.

  "No dill pickle today," I said to Andy. "But the Holy Cannoli cupcake is pretty amazing. So are the almond croissants."

  He smiled, digging his wallet out of his back pocket. "The cupcake sounds perfect."

  Moving carefully, so I didn't repeat the pen debacle with the baked goods, I pulled one cupcake off the tray and placed it in the container. Once the lid was closed I slid it toward him.

  "Two fifty, please."

  "Keep the change," Andy told me, handing me a crisp five-dollar bill.

  "Thanks. Enjoy the cupcake." I dumped his change into the tip jar. He smiled before he left, nodding at Levi as he walked out.

  I swear, I tried not to check out his ass, but it was an actual physical impossibility.

  Andy/Brad/Chris had a phenomenal ass. He had a phenomenal everything, actually. He stood roughly around Levi's height, so I knew he was taller than six feet.

  "Ahem," Levi said, and I tore my eyes away from Andy's retreating figure. "I'd like four dozen cupcakes, please."

  "Too bad," I mumbled.

  "Ouch. So much for your stellar customer service skills." Then he smiled. "But hey, look how friendly you were with that guy. You didn't even look like you were in pain when you smiled so politely."

  I laughed. I couldn't help it. After that, I had another first. My mouth opened to tell him, to explain why that was, but then I closed it again when the words didn't want to come out comfortably, when they didn't slide out naturally. As I stared at Levi over the counter, I realized I didn't want to confide in him about this.

  It felt like … like I was doing something wrong, to tell him that a man I didn't know made my stomach do somersaults. Or that I managed to flirt without any embarrassing incident, pens aside.

  Lightly, I shrugged one shoulder. "What can I say?" I told him, "I'm a pro."

  "For real, though, can I get one of those pecan rolls? They look amazing."

  I sniffed haughtily. "That's because I made them."

  "Nice work, Sonic." I boxed it up and accepted the bills he handed me. Immediately, he opened the box and took a greedy inhale. "I hope you don't expect me to share."

  Shaking my head, I backed up and turned toward the kitchen. "I'd never expect that. Hang on, let me get someone up here, I'll punch out and meet you in the front."

  He nodded, mouth full of pecan roll.

  "You are worse than an animal. You can't even wait to use a utensil?"

  Levi grinned around the pastry, and I couldn't help but smile back. What an idiot.

  By the time I met him out front, he was tossing the pink box into a trash can, then he turned and let Nero lick the remaining caramel off his fingers.

  My boys, I thought. What would I do without them?

  "Want to go play some basketball?" he asked when Nero had finished.

  "Sure." He opened the door for me, and I hopped easily from my chair into the passenger seat. He picked up my chair and tossed it into the back of his truck "You just need to have me back home by two thirty. My PT appointment in Maryville is at four."

  "See if they're hiring, by the way. Green Valley has a terrible hatred of any jobs for a guy with my impressive educational pedigree," he said as he got behind the wheel. "You sure you don't want me to come?"

  I nodded. "Yeah, let me scope the guy out before I sic you on him. It's the least I can do."

  Levi smiled proudly. "Everyone is scared of Nero, but really, they should fear me."

  He puffed out his chest and I dissolved into helpless laughter. "You're ridiculous."

  "Maybe I am," he agreed easily. He cut me a look as we drove away. "Work was good?"

  I thought about Joy and Jennifer. Then I thought about Andy. "Yeah," I said slowly. "It was really good."

  His smile was so happy, and I fought against my instinct that maybe it was strange that I didn't feel like I could tell him about Andy.

  It was just new. And nothing would happen with it anyway. Or at least, that was what I told myself as we drove to the park. How very, very wrong I was.

  Chapter 5

  Jocelyn

  Maryville Physical Therapy, a quick thirty-minute drive northwest of Green Valley, was a fairly nondescript office smack in the middle of a strip mall. It had been a couple of months since my last appointment, which was my own fault. I used the excuse of finishing up the school year and taking exams and writing papers, but the truth was that my progress was slower and harder than I wanted, which did nothing for my motivation lately.

  I could still kick ass on the basketball court, and with Levi's help in the gym, my upper body strength was as good as it'd ever been. But the process of gaining enough strength to walk was frustrating. My steps weren't smooth or graceful. My legs swung out in an ungainly fashion, and I still had to hold one arm out in the air to maintain a sense of balance.

  When Denise moved, and the office manager told me they'd hired someone who specialized in the exact thing I was working on, I looked forward to it with a strange sense of trepidation.

  After I got sick, hope became about as dangerous as carting around a loaded gun.

  I had to mourn the loss of a future I'd always taken for granted even though I still had so much to be grateful for.

  Someday, they had told the fifteen-year-old Jocelyn still getting steroids pumped into her veins, if we reduce the inflammation on your spine, you might be able to use a walker on occasion.

  Someday, you should be able to get pregnant, carry a child, and give birth.

  Someday, you might …

  Someday, if conditions were right …

  Someday, maybe …

  There was a part of me, one I'd only confessed to Levi, that started hating that phrase. My mom never said the words out loud, but she hated watching me try to get around with my walker. The stumbling, graceless movement of my legs somehow made it worse. In her eyes, the smooth motion of my chair was preferable because hoping for more seemed like a useless exercise in frustration.

  It took root like a weed and became a battle I didn't want to fight with her. Occasionally, I would work on my legs with Levi, but that wasn't part of our usual routine either. Sometimes, if my mom wasn't home, I'd put Nero in a vest with a sturdy handle along the top of his back to do some of my exercises at home. That way, if I fell, I could use him to get back onto my feet.

  Wasn't that sad? I'd risk falling as long as no one was there to watch.

  But the second any eyes were on me, going through the motions was my default. That was as easy as breathing.

  Now that I sat parked in front of the office with a new person waiting inside for me, I took one last look at myself in the rearview mirror. Exhausted from trying to tame my batshit crazy hair, I finally tied it to the top of my head in a riotous bun.

  There was one time in my life when I truly didn't care if I looked like a bag lady, and that was during PT. I wore my favorite black leggings and a baggy Green Valley High T-shirt—the one I'd stolen from Levi—that had a hole in the hem and constantly fell off my shoulder.

  One did not need to put on mascara for your PT to make you sweat and cry and push yourself past every comfortable physical and mental boundary you possessed.

  I yanked the keys out of the ignition and exhaled heavily. The glass front of the office was reflective, so I had no idea if someone was in there watching me.

  With a deep sigh, I opened the driver's side door. There were four to five steps from where I was sitting to the back of my car. With my right hand, I held tightly to the side of the car but left the driver's door open so it shielded me from view.

  One.

&n
bsp; Two.

  My right leg swung out farther than my left, and I took a deep, steadying breath while my fingers gripped the locked door handle on the door behind mine.

  Three.

  Four.

  I reached the back of the car and yanked open the hatch. When it was up, and I could see my chair, I took a second to close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of standing on both feet. The air felt different on my face when I was standing. But it required so much mental energy to get that feeling. Nothing about it was unconscious or second nature. Not anymore. What direction were my feet pointing? Did I have something to hold?

  That stretched a mental muscle as much as it made my physical ones shake and groan in protest.

  Turning slowly, I sat down in the back of the car and used both hands to pull my chair out until it bounced on the pavement.

  This was one of the things I never even thought about.

  Flinging my chair out, flipping the lever of the brake until I heard the click, then sliding my body from the car into the chair, I leaned back up to pull the hatch down on the car, then flipped the lever again so I could move forward once my feet were on the footplate between the two small stability wheels.

  I didn't second-guess any of those motions.

  Locking the car as I passed it, I got to the front door and punched the blue button that would swing the door open.

  What? Yeah, I could've done it, but if I was about to have my ass kicked by the new dude, then not opening the door felt like an important conservation of my energy.

  In the back corner of the office, one of the therapists was working with an elderly gentleman on some gait training. She smiled at me when I came in.

  "Andrew will be right out for you, Joss!"

  I waved at her and pushed myself in a quick circle while I waited. On my second rotation, my head almost snapped clean off my neck when I saw my new PT, Andrew.

  Andrew. Andy. Also known as Brad/Chris. Also, also known as Cupcake Guy.

  His face mirrored my shock.

  "It's you," I said like a big ole dummy.

  "Hey." He glanced down at the file in his hands. "Jocelyn Abernathy, huh?"

  "That's … that's me."

  His broad chest was covered in a Maryville PT T-shirt, and my first terrible thought was, oh gawd, my hair looks like I stuck a key into a light socket and held on for about five seconds.

  Andrew set the file down and crossed his arms over that chest. "What a small world."

  My cheeks felt hot as I attempted a smile. "Sure is. Do you live in Maryville?"

  He shook his head, looking far less uncomfortable than I was feeling. "I live closer to Green Valley, but I'm from here originally. Just moved back."

  "Ah."

  Andrew snagged a stool and pulled it in front of where I was nervously moving my chair back and forth in tight movements. His hand reached out and grabbed the front of my wheel. "I know it's not easy to start with a new PT, but you have nothing to be nervous about, okay?"

  Ha. I looked like a homeless person. He was the first man to give me anything remotely related to butterflies in … well, ever … and now I got to do the one thing I hated in front of him, look clumsy and unsure and awkward.

  Absolutely nothing to be nervous about while he sat here looking like he popped out of GQ for physical therapists.

  "Let's start small, okay?" He let go of the wheel and hung his hands between his legs while he looked at my face. "Do you use your chair more than you should?"

  I raised an eyebrow. "That's starting small? You might as well ask me to give my confession."

  His face split in a smile. "Instead of Hail Marys, I'll just make you work harder."

  "Great." I sighed and glanced up at the ceiling. "Yes, I use my chair more than I should. Since Denise left, I've done some work, but …" my voice trailed off.

  "Not enough," he supplied.

  "Not enough." It felt like the hardest thing I could've possibly done, but I looked him straight in the eye. "I've mastered so many things since my accident, and I don't like how it makes me feel to do something poorly. I feel … I feel like a failure. I feel clumsy."

  He nodded. "Good."

  "That so?" I drawled.

  Andrew stood and tilted his chin toward where we'd start working. "Yeah. You're competitive. If you don't like feeling that way, then I have no doubt you'll work as hard as I ask to get you to the point where you don't feel like a failure." He stopped and leaned up against a desk. "Look, your walk may never be smooth, Joss. I won't bullshit you there. You need to re-frame the way you look at what you can accomplish."

  With the side of my file, he tapped my biceps. "I see those muscles, and I can guarantee you've worked your ass off to get them, right?"

  I lifted my chin. "Yes, I have."

  "Good. Then let's get working on the rest of you, okay?" There was a walker about six feet behind him, and when he gave it a quick look, I knew what he wanted. "Show me what you've got, and we'll go from there."

  When I started to wheel forward, he shook his head. I grumbled a really naughty word under my breath and locked my chair. He smothered his smile at my whispered expletive.

  My butterflies were long gone, no matter how much he looked like Brad Pitt because I was too busy swallowing down the vain part of me that didn't want to stumble in front of this person. No one told you that your pride tasted like rotten acid going back down.

  Quietly, Andrew sat back and watched my gait as I pushed up from my chair, braced my feet on the floor and made five halting, unsteady steps to the walker. I curled my hands around the handles and turned in his direction.

  "Good." He walked to the other side of the room and motioned for me to follow, turning around to study my movements as I did. "Let's get to work, Miss Abernathy."

  The sweat on my back was finally cooling as I drove back into Green Valley. Get to work, indeed. My legs hurt. And my back hurt. And my arms. The thought of going home, and how I'd never be able to talk to my mom about this without her getting that puckered expression on her face, like she'd just sucked on a lemon felt unbearable.

  Are you sure that's a good idea? I'd hate for you to get your hopes up and then not have it work out. You're so good in that chair, sweetie.

  I could hear the words clear as a bell. She’d said them years ago when I first told her I wanted to start working on walking sporadically. She'd never said them again, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't scrub them from my brain.

  Without making the decision to, my car pointed itself to Levi's. When I pulled into the driveway, his big black truck wasn't there, so I parked closer to the main house. The Buchanans had put a ramp in the garage, and no, I did not take for granted how amazing it was that my best friend's family loved me so much that they modified their house to make it easier for me to be there.

  After I parked and got my chair out, I pushed up the ramp in the garage and used my left hand to open the door into the mud room.

  "Anyone home?"

  "In here, sweetie," Mrs. Buchanan called from the kitchen. "Perfect timing."

  "Yeah?"

  She was at the large island, glaring at her stand mixer like it had sinned against her.

  I smiled. "What's wrong?"

  "The frosting is too loose, and I can't figure out why."

  Leaning up so I could see what she was making, I nodded. "Mr. B's strawberry cake? I didn't miss his birthday, did I?"

  Absently, she patted my shoulder. "Oh, honey, you didn't miss it. I just wanted to surprise him is all. He's been so busy at work."

  I opened up the drawer to my right and grabbed a spoon, then reached over to scoop some of the frosting from the bowl. "'S'good. But do you normally put diced strawberries in the frosting? I thought you only put them between the layers."

  Her eyes, the same shade as Levi's, lit with understanding. "You know, you're right. I don't normally put them in there, do I? Lord, I'm losing my mind. I think I'm going senile, Joss."

  "No, you're not."
I laughed. "But that would probably do it. Not much you can do about getting rid of the moisture in the berries."

  With a shake of her head, she opened up the garbage and dumped the frosting. "Well, if this is any indication, I'd better practice the cake Sylvia wanted me to make for her shower,."

  "What'd she ask for?"

  "That wild berry tart I haven't made in about eighteen years." She waved a hand. "I suppose it hasn't been that long, but it sure feels like it."

  "Mmm, I love that one. Do you need any help with the shower?"

  "I think we've got it all handled, honey, but I'll let you know. My sisters are doing most of the food, and Memaw Buchanan is handling all the setup."

  I gave the spoon another slow lick while I thought about their extended family, all of whom I knew. "Isn't that funny?"

  "What?"

  "You come from a family of all girls, and the Buchanans have always had boys, didn't they?"

  She laughed. "Almost always. Mr. B's brother, you know Glenn, he and his ex-wife had the first girl in five generations. Of course, the family joke was that she was only allowed to be born a Buchanan girl because she came out with a twin brother. You remember the twins, right? Grady and Grace? It's been a few years since they visited."

  "Yeah, it was Christmas about four years ago, right?"

  I remembered two tawny-haired, ridiculously attractive people only a couple of years older than Levi. Grace intimidated me because she wore Daisy Dukes no matter what the weather and had a perpetual look on her face like she would beat the shit out of anyone who crossed her. Her brother was sweet, though. Reminded me a lot of Levi.

  "That's right," she said. "They'll be here for the wedding."

  I nodded.

  She eyed me. "How's your day going, honey? Levi told me you started with a new PT today. He's out for a run with Connor, by the way. Should be back soon."

  I sighed. "Yeah, I had PT."

  "Come on, tell me everything."

  I opened my mouth to give her a standard answer, but I got the Francine Buchanan look. The don't you dare try to put me off right now look.