Page 72 of Bean

“You sure you’re okay to do that?”

Bean eased me back so I could look into his eyes when he answered. “I’m feeling much better, and the fact that I can do this for you means everything to me.”

You mean everything to me, I thought. I wished I could say the words, and maybe I would. Maybe even soon. But for now, I was going to be selfish and take this. To bask in it for as long as I was allowed.

After a moment, he kissed me again, then pulled back to ask, “So, know any places with decent chicken and dumplings we could order from?”

I burst into laughter, falling onto my side and taking him with me. I hauled him in close and, this time, took my own kiss. “I’m sure we can find something. Right now, all I want is to hold you. Is that okay?”

His face did something complicated, then his cheeks pinked, and he nodded before resting his forehead against my shoulder. “Yeah. That sounds really nice.”

And god help me, but it was the best feeling I’d ever had.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

BEAN

Two weeks after that seizure, I was finally feeling like myself again. Much to my surprise, the new meds were making a difference, both with the headaches and, interestingly enough, with some of my memory issues. Not that my brain was working properly now, but I seemed to be able to remember a little more without having to check everything in my notebook. Small things for someone else, but a huge win for me.

Jarek and I had met up twice more after the day he’d seen his ex again. I understood him so much better now that I knew more about what had happened between them. The guy was an absolute douche, plus an idiot to boot. Didn’t he realize what he’d let go of when he’d lost Jarek?

The last time we’d seen each other, I had taken Nash’s advice, and I’d told him everything about my brain injury. I’d even brought notes and everything, wanting to ensure he understood what I was dealing with.

Not gonna lie. I’d half expected never to hear from him again after that. Knowing someone had a TBI was one thing, but being told all the details, the long list of symptoms and limitations, all the meds I had to take… That had to make an impression.

But Jarek had listened and asked a hundred questions, none of them judgmental and all of them aimed at fully understanding the scope of my problems. Heck, he even asked questions we had to Google together because I didn’t have the answers.

When I told Nash, he said he was proud of me—even though I didn’t bring up the other topic he raised with me, about Jarek and me being more than friends. He said that wasn’t the important part and we had plenty of time to discuss that, which was true.

Driving was still more tiresome for me than before the seizure, so today, Jarek had offered to come to my house—Nash’s house, technically—to meet everyone and have dinner. After that… Well, we’d only just begun to check off things on my list, so we still had a lot of ground to cover.

Technically, it was Tameron’s day to cook, but since I didn’t want Jarek to burn his mouth and, the next day, his asshole, I’d offered to take over. Then Nash had stepped in and said he’d take care of it.

He was making his grandmother’s beef stew, which had beer in it and was one of my favorite recipes. Maybe that was why he was making it? It took a while because it had to simmer for a long time, but it was totally worth it. Once it was done, the meat was so tender it all but melted in your mouth, and combined with his fluffy mashed potatoes and steamed baby carrots and broccoli, it was the perfect meal.

I’d showered, changed, then changed again into different clothes, and now I was restlessly wandering through the house. The smell of the stew was filling the kitchen, and it made my stomach rumble. Would it be done in time?

I reached for the lid to take another peek, but Nash slapped my hand away. “A watched pot never boils.”

“My mom always said that, but it never made sense to me. Boiling temperature isn’t influenced by someone watching, is it?”

“No, smartass, but it is influenced by someone who keeps taking the lid off.”

I laughed sheepishly. “Sorry?”

“If you want to do something, go set the table.”

“It’s Creek’s turn.”

“You can either set the table or stay in your room until your boyfriend is here.” Nash’s tone had reached the stage of exasperation, which meant I was treading on thin ice.

“Sorry. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Yet.”

“You don’t know that?—”

I gave up. Arguing with Nash was useless anyway.