Page 133 of At First Smile
A laugh belts out of me. “Pen, you’ve been to my condo, have you noticed lit beer signs?”
“Maybe you hid them as a ploy to lure me into the delusion that you don’t have terrible taste.”
“I have great taste,” I protest, tickling her.
Giggling, she wiggles against me. “Truce!”
I kiss her.
“You do have excellent taste, you chose me.” That big smile beams up at me.
“Luv, I had no choice when it came to you.” It’s not a line, it’s the goddamn truth. From the moment that smile slammed into me at the airport, I was done… I was hers.
“That line just earned you a treat.” Her uninjured hand skates down my stomach.
“We need to shower and head out for your doctor’s appointment.”
Today, Pen’s provider will examine her hand to make sure it’s healing. If it appears that her wounds are closing, they’ll remove the splint. She’ll still have a week or so for her hand to properly heal, but the splint removal will give her more dexterity with her hand, regaining the ability to type, use her cane, and do other things.
“Not even one day living together and the magic is already gone,” she quips and sits up.
“Tell my fingers that,” I say wryly, slipping the fingers, still coated in her, into my mouth.
“Who needs a right hand?” she pants, crawling atop me.
We were onlyfive minutes late for Pen’s appointment. Not that it matters since we’re still waiting. Though I’m not complaining. Pen’s head rests on my shoulder, my arm looped around her, as one end of our earbuds is in her ear and the other in mine. We’re listening to the climactic end of our latest buddy read, a hockey romance. She finds it endlessly entertaining to listen to me grumble about all the things the writer gets wrong. Still, a smile stretches across my face at the cliched grand gesture.
“Aw, she told him they’re pregnant with a baby-sized jersey,” Pen gushes at the book’s epilogue.
My stare skips around the room. A toddler, tiny hands clutching a stuffed llama, bounces on what I assume is his dad’s knee. Their brown eyes and broad smiles are nearly identical.
The vision of a little boy with Pen’s auburn hair, my green eyes, and chipmunk cheeks, sitting on my lap pluses joy inside me. After my mother’s comments about one day being a Gran during our Toronto trip, Pen and I have discussed children. We both want a family, but not for a few years. Pen wants to be more secure in her career before we add the title of mom to the many roles she already plays.
“Penelope Meadows,” the nurse calls.
Slipping the earbud from her ear and handing it to me, Pen rises. “Ready?” She reaches out her uninjured hand to me.
Nodding, my palm envelops hers. “Yep.”
A contented sensation twines around me with each step we take, our hands clasped. In Pen’s books, there have been romantic gestures similar to what I did last night. This is the simple, the everyday things that aren’t written about by authors. It’s just a doctor’s appointment. Still, the moment she reached out her hand, inviting me to come into the room with her, almost knocked the air out of me. I’m her teammate, and she’s mine.
“This is closing up nicely.” Dr. Alvarez grins, warmth glinting in her hazel eyes.
“Really?” Pen winces as Dr. Alvarez prods at her injured hand, clear fluid oozing from the wounds.
I’ve seen worse in my years of playing hockey. Broken bones. Bloodied noses. Knocked out teeth. Cut calves after a skate blade slices into a player’s leg. Still seeing the woman I love, her hand raw, red, and oozing…
“You going to be okay there, tall and dreamy?” Dr. Alvarez quips, a dark eyebrow quirking.
“Yup.” I cough, shifting in the plastic chair.
“We’re going to remove the splint. I’ll have the nurse clean you up and re-bandage. He’ll go over instructions about keeping it clean and letting it breathe when you’re not out and about. It should take about a week or so before you regain full function of the hand.”
“No more splint?” Pen vibrates with excitement.
“No more splint.” Dr. Alvarez rises and pulls off her gloves.
“Freedom!” Pen cheers in a terribleBraveheartimpression, making me and the doctor laugh.
