“That’s not where I was going with this, Sam. I just meant it takes some time to feel normal again, to get past something bad. But you will.”
In response, he kissed her, a tender, sweet kiss, full of hope and affection.
She broke from his embrace just as he was turning it into something more serious and said, “How about I fix lunch for us? And then maybe you’d like a shower?”
“Umm, a shower. I would have killed for a shower in the hospital.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Does helping me shower involve you naked?”
“I got a hand-held shower head so you can keep the water off your cast and … ”
“You’re not answering the question, Amanda.”
Without replying, she headed for the hall. “Come on, I roasted a chicken for sandwiches and made potato salad. And there are fresh tomatoes and pears and grapes.”
Hesitating for a moment, he finally followed, Chihuly trailing after him. “Is this like the first time I stayed over? You had enough breakfast in the refrigerator to feed the precinct.”
“If you’re not in the mood for chicken and potato salad, there’s ham and cheese. I can make tuna salad. Of course, I can do grilled cheese. Oh, and I have a panini machine so I could make anything into one of those. There’s falafel and hummus on pita bread, if you want to go vegetarian. There’s also macaroni salad — it’s from New Seasons, I didn’t make it — and I have lettuce so we can put together a green salad … ”
“Are you planning anything other than stuffing me with food while I recuperate?”
• • •
After lunch, Amanda took Chihuly for a walk. Left to himself, Sam went into the living room armed with a new thriller by his favorite writer to divert his attention from … well, from a lot of things, now that he thought about it. But after he’d read the first chapter twice trying to get into the story, he put the book down, wondering if the writer had lost his edge. He tried a second book and when that didn’t make any more sense than the first one had, he decided the writers were just fine. He was the problem. Pacing up and down didn’t distract him either, so he put in a CD, and lay back on the couch.
But his mind wouldn’t shut off. He’d been only half-truthful when he’d told Amanda what was bothering him. Yes, he was feeling a bit off-balance after being shot and in the hospital, but he was even more uneasy about being at Amanda’s house. In spite of what she’d said, he wondered if she’d only volunteered to help him while he recuperated because she felt guilty about what happened. He didn’t want her to pity him, to take care of him like he was some kind of damned charity case. He wanted Amanda to love him.
She’d said the words, once. But that was when he was in the hospital and she thought she’d put him there. And, okay, she’d pecked him on the cheek every time she came to see him, but she hadn’t held him or really kissed him since they’d had their last dinner together, whenever the hell that was. And upstairs today she’d backed away just when the kiss was getting interesting. Not to mention suggesting he sleep someplace other than with her. What the hell was that about?
Suppose she expected him to leave when he was cleared to go back to his job? What would he do then? He hadn’t been kidding when he said he wouldn’t want to move out once he moved in. If he’d had his way, he would have given notice to his landlord before he left the hospital.
He heard the sound of the door unlocking, the clunk of her keys as she tossed them onto the table in the hall, the thud of her shoes as she took them off and tossed them under the table. Chihuly came bounding in, eager for a drink and a little rest, Amanda with him, presumably on her way to the kitchen to clean up the lunch dishes.