“No.” But my voice was uncertain. Because that was true. I remembered that last visit to physical therapy, that last follow-up with the surgeon. Both times, I was told that everything was a go. I should be good as new. But I hadn’t been.
“It’s been what, about three years? You should be able to pick it up again.”
I shook my head, looking away as I put my coffee mug down on the counter. “I tried once, but . . .” Frustration clogged my chest, just like it had that time that I’d gone out on that abortive run. My body had betrayed me and I’d never gotten over it.
“Have you tried lately?” He took a step toward me, his voice gentle like I might spook and run away. “Working back up to previous levels of fitness can be hard to do, but it’s not impossible. Start slow.” His hand stroked up and down my arm, and I found myself leaning into the comfort his touch offered.
“Yeah?”
His smile was intimate and encouraging. “Yeah. You need to ease back into things when it’s been a while. Don’t push yourself too hard or you’ll give up.”
“Good advice.” I had a feeling we weren’t just talking about running anymore, but I also didn’t have the nerve to clarify. That would definitely be pushing myself too hard. So instead I turned back to my coffee while he did the same.
“Hey.” Mitch looked around the kitchen like he was just seeing it for the first time. “You never did the cabinets.”
“Hmm?”
“The cabinets. Remember? You were going to change out the fronts. I sent you that picture.”
“I said I’d think about it.” At least I hoped that’s what I said; I’d completely forgotten his text until just now. That had been that horrifying night at book club, with the cupcakes, and . . . thank God I’d had him park in the garage last night. I studied the cabinets. “It’s not a bad idea, though. I’ll go look soon.”
“Or I can do it. I’m not all that busy this week. I can text you some pics while you’re at work.”
“That . . . that would be great. Thank you.” A warm feeling bloomed in my chest. I’d missed having Mitch over, helping me with the house. Maybe it would be worth a little neighborhood gossip to have him come over again.
Or maybe I could talk him into continuing to park in the garage. Less ammunition for the neighbors that way.
“I’m going to swing by my place real quick, but do you need a ride to Faire this morning?” Mitch took my mug when I was done, putting them both in the dishwasher. See? Domestic. But my eyes flew wide at the question, and tension washed away all those tender domestic feelings.
“What? No. No . . . I can drive myself.” Gossip at Faire had been bad enough last weekend. It had already died down, in favor of newer scandals involving one of the traveling acrobats and a guy from the mud show. I didn’t need to be back on the front page, as it were, by showing up in the passenger seat of Mitch’s bright red truck.
Thankfully, Mitch wasn’t a mind reader and couldn’t see my inner turmoil. “Okay. Come by and say hi later if you want.” He went through to the dining room to pick up his overnight bag that he’d left on the table.
“Come by?” I couldn’t keep the alarm out of my voice. Come by where? His place? I’d never been there before.
“Yeah. The chess field. For the two o’clock? You know, if you’re hanging out when you’re done at the box office.”
“Oh. Right.” I shook my head. “I think I’m gonna go straight home today. Someone kept me up kind of late last night.” I forced a yawn, which frankly wasn’t too hard. I wasn’t kidding about him giving me a workout. Maybe I should take up CrossFit after all.
Mitch grinned at my innuendo and pulled me close. “Then I’ll call you later, okay?” His goodbye kiss was short but still toe-curling. It was a confident kiss that said this was just the beginning.
The beginning of what? That thought echoed through my head as I closed the garage door after he left. I was absolutely out of my depth here, and had no idea what to do. How to act. It had been almost two decades since I’d been a wife, even longer since I’d been a girlfriend. Faking it for Mitch’s family or for my ex-husband was one thing. It was low stakes and finite. But this no longer felt like a performance, and I had no blueprint on how to move forward. Were we going to be out in public together for real, where everyone could see us? Where everyone could comment on Mitch and his much-older girlfriend? I wasn’t ready for that.
Or was I jumping the gun? Sure, last night had been great, but in the brightness of the morning the things we’d said to each other seemed like something out of a dream. Yesterday I’d been in a Ren Faire costume with flowing skirts and elaborately braided hair. Today I was throwing on my volunteer T-shirt, tying my hair in a ponytail, and going back to selling tickets. I was back to being just me.
Back to being mundane.
And if there was one thing I knew for sure, it was that Mitch wasn’t a mundane kind of guy.
* * *
? ? ?
The next week went relatively smoothly. I went to work, then I had dinner with Caitlin when I got home. She’d been working extra hours at the bookstore lately; Emily’d had the sudden urge to inventory the books, and Cait was enlisted to help her out. I had a feeling it was less to do with inventory and more to do with throwing a little extra money my daughter’s way, now that the summer was coming to an end and she was starting to pack for college.
During the week Mitch, as promised, texted me photos of cabinet doors, and we both agreed on a pale green set that wasn’t obnoxious enough to be considered bright, but was different enough to not be another damn neutral color. I placed the order, and Mitch offered to pick them up for me on Friday.
Leave the garage open, he texted, and we can unload them in there.
I heaved a sigh of relief. His truck in the garage meant fewer neighbors talking about my business. Win-win.
I parked out front when I got home on Friday and left the garage door open while I changed out of my business casual clothes from work and into jeans and a T-shirt. I made it back to the garage, throwing my hair up into a ponytail, just as Mitch arrived. He backed into the garage, which was an act of bravery given how much junk I had in there.
“Is this them?” I stretched up onto my tiptoes to peek into the bed of the truck.
“No.” The slam of the driver’s side door punctuated his statement. “These belong to someone else. I’m making deliveries.” He greeted me with an eye roll and a smile, and I punched him lightly on the arm.
“Funny.” I waited while he unlatched the lift gate, hopping from one foot to the other like a kid on Christmas, then reached for one of the shrink-wrapped packages and tugged. “Oh. These are heavy.”
Mitch hefted one of the packages like it was nothing. Figured. “See, this is why you need me.” His voice was teasing, so I tried not to make too much of that statement. He directed me to the smaller packages, and I wrangled those into the house while he unloaded the larger ones. Soon my kitchen was full of cabinet doors, stacked along the wall like firewood.
“Not bad.” But I was breathing hard; I hadn’t expected a workout this soon after work.