Chapter 23: The Night

He did not move toward me.

That was the first thing I noticed.

His jacket hung on the back of the chair, and my hand was still in my pocket.

He waited, with his hands at his sides.

"I want to be clear," I said. "This isn't a term."

"Okay."

"It isn't a reward, either. You didn't earn it with the chili."

"I know."

"I'm doing it because I want to. And I get to say when it stops."

"Yes."

His voice was rough.

I took the key out of my pocket and set it on the kitchen table beside the empty bowls.

Then I walked across the kitchen on my cane.

I put the cane against the wall.

I put my good hand flat on his chest.

His heart was going fast under my palm.

"You're scared," I said.

"Terrified."

"Good."

I kissed him.

It was not the kiss I'd had in my head for six weeks.

It was clumsier and better.

His mouth shook against mine, and he made a low sound in his throat.

I did it again.

His hands came up and stopped an inch from my waist.

"Where?" he said against my mouth.

"Anywhere I don't have a cast on."

He laughed, and it cracked in the middle.

He put his hands on my hips, finally, and his thumbs found the soft place above the waistband of my jeans.

I had been so afraid of this.

I was afraid of the lamp, and the way I looked now.

The ribs, the knee and the bruises were still yellow on my side.

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