Return To You - Leia Stone Page 0,67

says, acknowledging his plight.

"I didn't cook much until I came here," I say, dicing zucchini. "I was a sandwich pro."

"Now you're little miss healthy chef," my mom says, her tone good-natured. She bumps my hip with her own.

"It's fun," I concede, watching Owen use his knife to push the onions from the cutting board into the pan. They sizzle on their way in.

"I'm pretty happy to have you here," Mom says to Owen.

Owen eyes me. "Me too."

I make it a point not to look at him, but my insides heat up at his words.

We finish assembling the enchiladas, sliding the pan into the oven and setting the timer.

"I think I'll take a short siesta while those are cooking," my mom says, yawning for emphasis. She twirls her fingers at us and leaves the kitchen.

I glance at Owen. His eyes are already on me.

"Well?" I ask.

"Well?" he counters.

"We could sit in the back yard and have a glass of wine? Or a beer? I bought beer." I'd stopped by the store on the way home from Mom's chemo and picked up a few items for dinner, grabbing beer for Owen in case he wanted one.

"A beer sounds great, actually."

I pull two from the fridge and open them, handing one to Owen. He leads the way outdoors, to the covered seating area.

We settle in, close but not too close. A safe distance, a friendly distance. Because, I have no idea if last night was a fluke, or something we will be repeating anytime soon.

"How was your day?" I ask, toying with one of the dangly earrings I'd threaded through my ears before he arrived.

"Good, actually." He nods happily, running a thumb across the skin between his nose and upper lip. "I got to tell a patient they're officially in remission."

His eyes light up as he says it, and he has this look on his face, almost a reluctant pride. Because he doesn't think he deserves praise or because he knows a relapse is possible?

"Congratulations, Owen. You deserve a win."

He smiles sheepishly. "Now let's get a homerun for your mom too. For the third time. She looks good. I'm hopeful."

"Why do you think it keeps coming back?" I’ve not yet crossed this boundary with Owen, the one where I ask him doctorly things, but I can’t help it since he’s brought up my mother’s case.

"There's no way to tell. It's not like she's been a smoker all her life and now she has lung cancer. This was random, as most cancers are. It's not as if cancer looks at your moral constitution and decides if you're a good or bad enough person to multiply within. Sometimes I wonder if it's an arrow being shot into the dark."

"And a little drunk demon has the bow."

Owen chuckles. "But the demon lives inside you. That's the thing about cancer. It's a cell gone rogue. Simple as that." Owen's posture changes, his happiness evaporating like spilled water on a hot sidewalk. "You know I'm doing my very best to save her, right?" Desperation outlines the fervor in his tone.

"I know, Owen. I know." It's all I can say to reassure him. Until now I hadn't considered the pressure on him, the pressure he feels to save the life of not just someone he loves, but someone I love too.

Silence sets in, and it's a good break from the macabre tone that overtook us.

We sip from our beers, until Owen breaks the silence. "You were, uh … something else last night. And this morning." His gaze flashes up to me. "Different than before."

A grin breaks out on my lips. Now it’s my turn to feel reluctant pride. "We were young. Still figuring things out. And I wasn't confident in my body.”

One side of Owen's mouth pulls up into a grin. "Do you remember our first time?"

My head shakes and I laugh quietly. "Yes," I say reluctantly.

Owen pretends to be offended. "Was it that bad?"

"No," I hurry to say, "but it wasn't amazing either."

Owen's head moves back and forth as his chin drops to his chest. "Poor sixteen-year-old Owen. I wish I could go back in time and teach him what to do."

I reach over, patting his thigh. "Honestly, I'm just happy it was with someone I loved. I've heard some horror stories."

Owen grows serious. "Loved?"

My eyebrows draw together in confusion. "We were in love, Owen. You know that."

"I guess it's the past tense part that I'm talking about." His cheeks grow red and I shift uncomfortably.

Oh. Got it.

Before