When Love Breaks (10 page)

LOGAN

“G
ood morning,” I say with a smile, as Elora walks through the door.

“Morning,” she replies quietly.

“You okay?” She nods, but I can tell something’s off. “Are you sure? You don’t seem like your usual happy self.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just in one of those moods, I guess. What can I make you for breakfast?” She lays her bag on the floor and walks toward the stove.

“How about if we make breakfast together again. Eggs and bacon sound good?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not hungry. I ate at home, but I’ll be glad to cook for you.”

I wheel myself over, stopping right in front of her. Reaching out, I touch her arm, and she noticeably stiffens.

“Hey. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. Really.” She moves her arm away from my hand, pretending to push a nonexistent lock of stray hair from her face. “I just didn’t get a good night’s sleep, I guess.”

“Elora…” I probe.

“I’m fine!” she shouts, as she spins around to face me. “Just leave it alone, okay?” She rolls her eyes and sighs in exasperation, then turns back to the task as hand. I’m shocked into silence. What the hell is going on? I’ve never seen her this angry…and at me, no less. I nod my head, even though she can’t see me, and back away, wheeling myself to the table. I pick up the newspaper, but comprehend none of what I’m reading. The whole while, I’m trying to figure out what might’ve happened since I last saw her.

She places my breakfast in front of me then retreats to the living room, presumably to study. I eat the most solitary meal I’ve eaten in a long while; the silence fills the room. I look over at her occasionally, to see if she’s watching me, but she keeps her head down. The only movement I see is the intermittent turn of a page. I want to say something. I want to let her know that I’m here for her, for whatever is bothering her. But, I chicken out. After I place my dishes in the sink, I turn toward the hallway.

“I’ll be in my bedroom, working out, if you need me.”

She looks up and nods sullenly. I start wheeling myself down the hall when she speaks up.

“Logan?” she says, so I stop and look at her. Her face is so sad, and so apologetic, and I now understand, just a bit, how she must’ve felt when I first met her—when I was so angry at the world that I was willing to hurt anyone who tried to help me.

“Yes?” I try to keep my voice free from irritation.

“I…I’m…sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say, then smile sincerely. “We all have those days. I’ll see you after my workout.”

She hesitates, but eventually gives me a subtle nod. I continue on, into my room, to give her the space I know she needs right now.

After a vigorous workout, I exit my room with my legs on. I walk into the kitchen but don’t see Elora. I take a few steps in the direction of the living room, where I last saw her, but she’s not there. Perplexed, I walk in a bit farther. Nothing. Did she leave? My heart begins to panic. I walk back toward the kitchen when I notice some movement on the front porch. I hold my breath as I near the window, then exhale when I see her sitting on the step.

“What are you doing?” I ask, after opening the front door. She turns to look behind her and smiles wistfully at me.

“Just sitting here in the warm sun. Are you ready for lunch?”

I shake my head. No. I’m not going to ask her to take care of me today. It’s my turn.

“No, but if it’s okay with you, I’d like to make lunch for
you
this time.”

She snorts.

“That’s not your job, it’s mine. I’ll do it.” She insists, then stands.

I hold up my hand.

“Not a chance. You’re having a bad day today. Let me do this for you. If you don’t want to talk about what’s bothering you, I’ll respect that but, if I can’t help with your problem, at least let me take a bit of your burden off.”

She smiles appreciatively, and I can’t help but feel I’ve gained a little bit of my Elora back.

“Logan, taking care of you is anything but a burden to me.”

“I know, but still. Let me do this for you.” Her expression is apprehensive. “Please?”

Reluctantly, she agrees. I hold the door open for her, and she steps inside. The fragrant smell of her hair wafts past me in her wake. I close my eyes briefly and absorb every molecule.

“So, what’ll it be? Soup? Sandwich? Soup
and
a sandwich? What are you in the mood for?”

“Um, I don’t know. Grilled cheese?”

She picked something easy. She thinks I can’t handle something more complicated. I’m onto her. My mouth twists.

“That’s it?” She nods. “You know, I’m capable of cooking something a little more elaborate.”

She covers her face splitting grin, which tells me she doesn’t believe me, but it’s so good to see her coming back to me. My chest warms in response.

“I’m sure,” she says, then bites her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“Do you doubt my abilities as a chef?”

“
A chef?
” she blurts out, as if her words could no longer be contained.

“You’re laughing at me,” I say, teasing her.

“I’m not. I promise. I’d just never describe you as a chef.”

I try to act affronted, and lean against the counter with my arms crossed. She laughs, which is exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

“Well, I was planning on cooking Coq au Vin for dinner, but forget it now.” I put my nose in the air and look away from her.

“No, you weren’t,” she giggles. “You don’t even know what that is.”

“Okay, you’re right. I have no idea, but it sounded French, so I figured it had to be fancy.”

“Grilled cheese for lunch will be just fine,” she says, smiling and shaking her head at our conversation, and I know I’ve got her back.

“Yes, ma’am. Coming right up.”

ELORA

H
ow on earth am I supposed to keep my distance when he’s being so damned charming? I watch, in utter amusement, as Logan butters both the outsides
and
insides of the bread. I want to say something, give him some pointers, but I refrain. This is his show. He wants to do this for me, and I’ll give him that. It was such a sweet gesture, and it only solidifies my feelings for him. What the hell am I going to do?

Within minutes, a grilled to perfection, hot, cheese sandwich is set in front of me, complete with a pickle on the side, and a glass of tea. It smells great and since I lied to him earlier about having eaten breakfast at home, I’m positively starving. He sits down adjacent to me, with his own plate of food, and I watch as he unfolds his napkin and places it on his lap. His parents have trained him well.

“Well, dig in…unless you’re afraid,” he says with a smirk.

“Just one thing missing,” I say, then I get up to go to the refrigerator. I take out a large container of salsa, and pour some into two bowls. After putting it back in to the fridge, I carry them over, placing one in front of him, and the other at my place setting. He looks at me, perplexed.

“You want chips with your sandwich?”

“No. I like to dip my grilled cheese in salsa, and I thought you’d like to try it too.”

His brow furrows, as he thinks about this new cuisine but ultimately, he gives it a go.

“This is really good,” he says, after swallowing a bite of his salsa dipped sandwich. “Why have I never thought of this?”

I shrug.

“I don’t know. I made it up one day. My mother used to make grilled cheese with tomatoes inside. One day, I was craving one of her wonderful creations, but I didn’t have any tomatoes, so I improvised. And voila! A new dish was born.”

“Well, I’d say you’re a genius, but I don’t want to overstate the obvious,” he says.

I roll my eyes and giggle.

“So, are we still going on our usual, after lunch, walk today?”

“Do you want to?” I nod. “Okay then, we’ll go.”

We finish our lunch and begin our stroll. He’s chosen to use only one crutch today, but I’m holding the second one, just in case he needs both. As we walk along our usual path, we talk about nothing in particular, but our conversations always flow like water. There’ve not been too many times that we’ve struggled to connect in this way, and I’m finding it very difficult to keep my distance.

“So, tell me about your parents. Do they live nearby?”

“My mom lives just over the Indiana border. She moved there a few years ago after she met her current boyfriend. We don’t get to talk much, but she’s very eccentric, so I’m okay with that. We talk on the phone mostly now.”

“And your dad?”

I sigh.

“I never knew my dad. He left just after I was born. It’s been my mom, my brother, and me ever since.”

“I’m sorry,” he says with regret.

“Don’t be sorry. You’re not the one who left.” An uncomfortable silence hovers, so I change the subject. “So, lunch was delicious. Thank you,” I say with a sincere smile.

“You’re very welcome. It was my pleasure, and the least I could do for someone who does so much for me every day.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, but it’s my job.”

“Something tells me that you’d do it even if it wasn’t in your job description.”

I chuckle.

“Probably, but you’re lucky you’re no longer that grumpy man I used to know, or I might put a little
extra something
in your food.” I say with a smirk. His mouth falls open.

“So, that’s what it means when someone says they put love into their cooking…it’s really spit?”

I giggle and nod slowly, as if to suggest I’ve already done it. He shakes his head with a smile.

“Miss Foster, you’re terrible. I’m glad I cooked today, and I think from now on, I’ll keep doing it,” he says, then his mouth twists. “Then again, knowing how stubborn you are, you won’t let me.”

My eyebrows lift.

“Stubborn? Me? What about you? It was like pulling teeth to get you to start transferring yourself from chair to chair, let alone how long it took me to convince you to try wearing prosthetics.”

He smiles fondly.

“I know. That’s why I appreciate you so much. You’ve never given up on me, no matter how much I protested. For that, I can never repay you.”

9

ELORA

T
he next day, as we arrive back at his house after our walk, a thought occurs to me.

“You know, when we’re at your friend’s wedding, you might be expected to dance.”

“And, exactly who is going to be expecting that?” he says, with pure confusion on his face.

“Me,” I say, smirking.

“You? Really? Why on earth would you want to see me dance?”

“Well, not
see
you dance, but dance
with
you.” I feel my cheeks heat, and I’m a little shocked that it came from my mouth. “I mean, what else is there to do at a wedding if you don’t dance a time or two?”

He wraps his fingers around his jaw and seems to contemplate my words.

“I suppose you do have a point. What do you suggest we do about it?”

“Well, the wedding’s still weeks away. You should have a better feel for walking on your prosthetics, but until then…”

“You think we should practice.” He finishes my sentence. I shrug and nod, still blushing. “Okay. Why not.”

With his crutches, he strides over to an old, record player I hadn’t noticed, and turns it on. Selecting a black, vinyl disc, he places the needle onto it, and the music begins. Soft, smooth waves of sound come through the speakers. They’re sounds from a different era. I look at him and smile.

“Old school. Nice.”

“Do you like it?” I nod. “It’s something my father gave to me. He told me never to underestimate the power of the classics.” His expression then changes to somewhat mischievous, as he makes his way back to me. He leans one crutch, against the counter, then the other, but grabs for my hand and waist rather quickly. “Whoa,” he says, as he tries to correct his balance. “I got it now.” I giggle as he holds onto me for dear life.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” I say.

“I have no doubt.” He smiles playfully and winks.

As we gently sway to the music, I feel his grip tighten now and then. I can tell he’d have a lot more trouble if he wasn’t holding on. We’re basically stepping side to side until, a moment of bravery sends me backward a bit. Then, a step forward for me. I’d imagine walking, or in this case, dancing backward, is difficult, but he’s doing very well.

“You’re very light on your feet,” I say, grinning. “You’ve only stepped on me twice.”

“Have I?” He takes a step back and looks down. His expression is repentant. Then, I let him off the hook, telling him I’m kidding. “Just for that…” He pushes me away slightly and raises his left hand, unexpectedly twirling me around once. I gasp quietly, but giggle on the return to his arms. “How’s that?”

“Not bad,” I laugh. “Though I’d prefer you’d play it a little safer for now.”

He scoffs. “There’s a time and place to play it safe. Having a beautiful woman in your arms isn’t that time.”

I grin from ear to ear as I feel my cheeks heat. He thinks I’m beautiful?

“You’re too kind.”

“It’s the truth. And, to top it off, you’re a great dancer.”

“Well, you lead very well. You’ve done this before.”

“Yes. I was never shy about school dances. I’d watch all the other guys holding up the walls, while I was dancing with their girls.”

“Impressive.”

“Thank you. I do my best.”

He pushes off again,] and twirls me. I squeal at this maneuver, knowing he’s got his balance this time.

“You’re getting really good at this…balancing, I mean. You’ve hardly wavered.”

“It’s getting easier.” His carefree expression changes to more serious. “I’m so glad the agency chose to send you to take care of me.”

“Yeah?”

He nods.

“Yeah. There was something about you. I noticed it from the moment you walked through my door. You were a force to be reckoned with. I knew you’d challenge me; I just didn’t realize just how much.” He chuckles, as if recalling some memory.

“Well,
you’ve
definitely been that—a challenge.” I giggle. “I wasn’t sure I’d even come back the next day, let alone stay as long as I have. God, you were so hard to deal with.”

“And, look at us now, dancing and laughing at ourselves,” he says.

“Yes, look at us,” I say with a grin.

Just then, a wrong step makes him stumble a bit, so he grabs onto me. I gasp and instinctually wrap my arms around him, in an attempt to steady him. He recovers his balance, but something has changed. His eyes seem to look straight into my soul, his breaths are shallow and ragged, and his lips part fractionally as he glances down at mine.

Oh, God. What’s happening?

He looks into my eyes again, for permission I think, then slowly the gap between us closes. My eyes close as I feel the warmth of his mouth on mine. It’s a soft, warm peck, but when he comes back in, his lips are parted. Tentatively, my tongue touches his and without thinking, I pull it back. In the recesses of my mind, I know it’s wrong. So, why does it feel so right? With his hand at the small of my back, he pulls me in tighter, desperately urging me to continue. Our tongues slowly wind around each other’s in our own private dance. This kiss is so innocent, so pure, yet it conveys so many emotions that have been building for so long. I feel the vibration from his throaty growl, and it sends my heart into a frantic rhythm. I feel my chest pounding thunderously, but I’m not really sure if it’s mine or his. Maybe, it’s both. And, in this moment, there are no barriers, no imaginary lines, and no missing limbs. It’s just us.

Then, I realize I’m walking backwards. I stop when I feel the crook of the counter against the lower part of my back. He has me boxed in. Feeling almost drunk in the moment, I thrust my hand into his hair, grabbing a fistful in the process, and again, his reaction can be heard and felt.

Finally, after several minutes have passed, he pulls back. Our foreheads rest against each other, and I can feel his sharp, shallow breathes against my lips, as we attempt to reconcile what just happened.