Isabel Sharpe – Feels So Right (страница 6)

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 five years since she and Seth broke up, but this was the first time she had her head together and could give a new relationship one hundred percent.

“What’s happening?”

She glanced pointedly at the flowers in her hands. “I’m arranging irises. What’s happening with you?”

“I’m standing here talking to you.”

“Ha-ha.” She cut off an inch from one stem and replaced the bloom in water. Her shop was full of buckets of various flowers set at different levels, to give the shopper the impression that he or she had just walked into a carefully landscaped garden or an outdoor flower market. Bonnie was incredibly pleased with the effect. Unfortunately shoppers hadn’t exactly been showing up in droves. Wedding season, in full tilt over the summer, had tided her over, brought some of her debt under control, and she was almost current on her payments, but business had slowed again, and she was in no shape to ride out bad times.

The one downside of her life right now, which she didn’t like thinking about.

“You seen that guy again?” Seth spoke so ultracasually she knew immediately whom he meant.

“Don?”

“Yeah, whoever.” He was practically growling, eyes stormy, his short, dark hair even more disheveled than usual, as if he’d been yanking on it all morning while composing his songs—a sure sign he was upset.

Bonnie wished she could feel vindictive and triumphant at the switch—for a change, she was moving on and he was left behind. Instead, she felt tender and guilty. Guilty? Ha! As if! She had nothing to feel guilty about. Seth had ended their relationship, not her. He was the one with the issues. If he was still in love with her and wanted her, he knew how to get her back. With a big fat until-death-do-us-part commitment. Bonnie would trust nothing less. But he’d shown no signs of wanting anything more than to get all stressed out about her decision to date, though to his credit, he’d done nothing to dissuade her and seemed to understand and support her decision.

They’d had one good nostalgic tumble in August, a strangely freeing experience that had been, in effect, a goodbye.

Mmm. A damn good nostalgic tumble. She’d been bent over the arm of the couch with her legs hooked around his back and he’d been—

Oof. Better not to think about that.