want me. I’ve been thinking about you.
Tate: Maybe I can come over too?
My heart has ceased thundering. Currently, it’s at the base of my throat along with my stomach, my lungs, my liver, and probably both of my kidneys. My entire body is in a giant knot at his sweetness on full, unquestionable display. I worried for nothing. He cares. I’ve been on his mind, and he wants to be close to me, just like I want to be close to him.
Yes, please.
thirteen
You sure you’re okay?”
It’s the millionth time Kaitlin has asked me that in this ten-minute phone call. No matter how many times I say it, she doesn’t believe me.
“Because I can dart over there no problem. Ethan is home from work. I could stay with you tonight and fetch things for you, make sure you don’t fall.”
I lean on the kitchen counter, checking the clock on the wall. I need to get off the phone ASAP. “I’m fine. It’s been three days since the surgery, and I’ve somehow survived. You’ve done enough. I have a full refrigerator thanks to your grocery run this morning.”
“Do you need help in the bath?”
I swallow back a laugh. “I should be able to bathe myself at this point. Thank you, though. Why don’t you spend the rest of the night relaxing with Ethan and Libby? I’ll text you if I need anything else.”
I thank her once more, and we hang up. Three days postsurgery, I’m still sore, but improving. I can stand, sit, and lie down without groaning in pain. I can chuckle during Eat Bulaga! without my stomach hurting too much, and I can walk for a half hour around the neighborhood before getting tired. The only thing left on my list is to shower. Finally. And it’s for the best possible reason: Tate is coming over soon to check on me.
I’d like to be fresh and clean for his arrival. Our late-night text session led to an all-day exchange today while he was at work. And it wasn’t just checking-in texts asking how I felt, but full-on conversations complete with jokes, emojis, and one video of a bunny and kitten falling asleep together in an Easter basket. I squealed out loud when he sent me that one.
I make my way to the shower, letting the wonderful weirdness of the past few days wash over me. My once work enemy is the guy causing all these butterflies in my stomach. And I want these butterflies swarming through me every single day.
Steam from the hot water transforms my tiny bathroom into a sauna. As soothing as the wet, warm air feels, a flash of panic hits. The bottom of my white porcelain tub glistens like it’s iced over. Kaitlin was right. What if I slip and fall?
A knock at the front door saves me from finding out. Carefully, I pull my tank top and shorts back on before opening the door to greet Tate.
“Hey.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
Butterflies and warmth hit me square in the gut at the sight of him. “Thanks for coming over.” I take a step back, hoping he can’t smell my stench.
“Is there water running?” His eyes dart over my shoulder.
“I was about to take a shower.”
He frowns. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
I cross my arms. “The pamphlet the nurse gave me advises to wait two days after surgery before bathing, so I’m in the clear. Hang on.”
I leave him standing in the doorway and go to turn off the tub faucet. The water level is halfway up the tub, perfect for a shallow bath. When I return to the living room, Tate hovers by the couch, frown still on full display.
“You could slip. And what about your stitches? Getting hot water all over them can’t be good.”
I yank up my tank top and point to my lower abdomen. “I had a laparoscopic procedure. There are three tiny incisions. One in my belly button, one near my right hip, and one . . .” I trail off before I can reveal the location of my third incision, which is right above my pubic bone.
Tate’s cheeks take on a crimson hue. By the way he clears his throat, I think he has a good idea where that third incision is.
I straighten my shirt to its rightful place. “Besides, Dr. Tran used tissue adhesive to seal me up. It’s like clear, super strong glue that protects my incisions. It’s perfectly safe to bathe