Feels So Right. Isabel Sharpe
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All pretense at cool was gone.
“I give up.” She lifted her hands, let them smack down on her desk. “You’re hurting but it will get better. That’s all I’m trying to say.”
He was chuckling for real now, his face relaxing further. “I think it was funnier when you were telling me I’d have trouble staying hard again.”
“No, no.” She shook her head, hands up and out. “That is not my expertise. If you’d like me to help with your pain and the management of your injury, I can. But only if you are realistic about what we can accomplish and how far you can come back. That’s going to be much more difficult than the rest of it.”
His expression turned grim again. “So I’m discovering.”
“Now.” Demi composed herself, relieved they were back on familiar ground. “You’re a personal trainer and health-club manager.”
“Was.” His jaw set again. “Will be again.”
“You enjoy it?”
“When I can do it, yeah.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “The first thing we need to focus on is getting you out of this rut of only thinking about things you can’t do. To all my clients I preach the gospel trinity. Positive thinking, can-do attitudes and silver linings. These are the only ways your life can become better after a big change like this.”
“Right.”
She expected the cynical reaction. “Any hobbies?”
“Swimming, biking and running.”
“Uh-huh.” Somehow she kept from gritting her teeth. “Anything you did before you took up triathlons? Something you’d enjoy rediscovering?”
His eyes lit for a brief moment before he could resolutely shut down into misery again. Aha. There was something. Good thing, because he definitely needed a jump start back into feeling productive.
“I used to play alto sax.” He laughed without humor and shrugged. “I was pretty bad.”
“Doesn’t matter. If you still have the instrument, bring it by in a week or so when you’re standing easier. What else?”
His eyes narrowed. “Bring it here?”
She returned his gaze calmly. Was he going to fight her on everything? “How much does an alto sax weigh, about ten pounds?”
“Not quite.”
“Heavy enough. I want to watch you play to make sure you’re handling the instrument in a way that isn’t going to sabotage your progress. What else?”
His expression grew darker; clearly he thought her questions a waste of time. She had to remind herself to focus on that glimmer of mischief and good humor that had transformed him. She wanted to bring that man back, healed, whole and happy. Because if he stayed like this, she was going to have to medicate herself to be anywhere near him.
“I used to have another hobby.”
“Yes …?”
“I made knives.”
“Knives.” She wasn’t sure what to think about that. “Tell me more.”
“More?” He shrugged. “I made knives.”
Grrr. Just talk to me. “What kind?”
“Kitchen, hunting, whatever.”
“You make them from scratch? Blade and everything?”
“Everything.” A glint of pride. “Handle, blade … yes.”
“How cool.” She let the silence go a few seconds. “Why did you stop?”
“Ran out of time.”
“Would you say making knives brought you some of the same satisfaction as—”
“Here we go again.” He sent her a mocking look. “Is this physical therapy or—”
“Okay, okay.” She waved his question away. “My point is—”
“That my life isn’t over. I have plenty to live for, and though it might seem bleak right now it’s always darkest before the dawn and the world is my oyster.”
“Colin.” She looked at him disapprovingly. “You forgot every cloud has a silver lining and when God closes a door He opens a window.”
He actually grinned at that, making him even more irresistible. “I guess I did.”
“All joking aside, positive thinking, can-do attitudes and looking for silver linings are the tenets my practice is built on, so you can expect to hear about them until you’re ready to scream. When do you want to come back?” She pulled her calendar up on her iPhone before he could make fun of her again. “Next week I’ve got Wednesday open at two o’clock.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Good.” She stood. “We’ll make progress. Just please don’t push between now and then. Once the pain is gone, and I mean gone, not bearable, you can ride your bike ten or fifteen minutes, easy, sitting up straight. If that goes well, we’ll increase. Also, once the pain is gone, do a few, just a few, core exercises to keep those muscles from deteriorating too far. We need them strong to keep the pressure off your spine.”
“Right.”
“No cheating. No superhuman stuff. Baby steps at the beginning until the swelling is down.”
“Right.” He walked to the door, obviously in a hurry to escape her lecture, which, perversely, made her talk faster.
“Heat if you’re stiff. Ice if the pain seems new.”
“Right.”
“Colin.” Instead of kicking him in the gluteals, which she wanted to do, she gave him an encouraging smile, trying for supportive counselor and trusted medical adviser. “You’re going to be okay. Better than okay. You’re going to—”
“Right.” He opened her door and took off down the hall, still walking stiffly but looser than when he came in.
Demi strode back into her office, closed the door and slumped against it. Colin was going to be tough. She wanted to heal him and let him see enough progress that he could shake off his despair. He needed self-motivation and spirit to do the hard work of fighting back to his new normal. She hoped she could be enough coach, inspiration and taskmaster to help him—while keeping herself and her goofy crush under control.
Every part of her hoped that Colin’s recovery was smooth and quick. For his sake and hers.
Because if it wasn’t, there was a good chance one of them would lose it.
3
“HEY, BONNIE, how’s it going?”
Bonnie turned from a bucket of irises she was arranging in her shop, Bonnie Blooms, and grinned at Seth. He looked devastatingly handsome as usual in jeans and a gray shirt that matched his eyes. He could have been a model if he hadn’t wanted to be a musician. “Hey, there.”
Nothing in the world gave her as much pleasure as being able to greet Seth without feeling wistful and lovesick. Five years ago they’d broken up, after one year of dating in college that ended when Bonnie got serious and Seth got itchy. Since then, especially once they’d both moved into the Come to Your Senses building, they’d been dancing a painful and cautious circles-around-each-other minuet that had ended last August when Bonnie had finally, finally signed up for Seattledates.com.
Not only that, but now, a month and a half later, after many disasters, some comical, some cringe-worthy, most just bland, she’d finally, finally had a good date. A really good date. Extremely fun, in fact, with Don Stemper. She’d dated a few guys in the