Page 1 of Strawberry Cake

Decan

Decan looked over the edge of his book, bringing himself back to reality. He’d needed to escape for just a few hours, so he’d settled into his favourite Starbucks with a book he had read a thousand times already. But now his coffee was cold, along with his enormous chocolate chip cookie.

When he let his gaze wander over the other coffee drinkers, he met those of a few women staring at him. He’d used to bask in the stares and giggles, loving the attention. He’d worn his hair down, those long black curls falling over his shoulders and showed his tattoos openly—for no other reason than to have a girl point them out to her girlfriends. However, four years ago that turned on its head—everyone pitied the guy in the wheelchair. It wasn’t just the looks, but people talked to him differently. It was as if his cognitive abilities had gone out the door along with his leg function. Decan was often overlooked when out with others, and questions were never asked directly to him.

One of the women separated from the group, making her way towards him with flushed cheeks. She was fidgeting with the hem of her black t-shirt, and the sway of her hips drew his eyes south, to the way the denim of her high-waisted jeans moulded to every one of her curves.

She stopped in front of him, and her eyes flickered to the book in his hands. “I was wondering where you got the book from. I’ve never seen that edition.”

Surprised, he looked down at the book as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. “My sister actually rebound it.”

“It’s gorgeous. I liked the story, but the ending of the series wasn’t really what I had hoped for.”

“Really?”

She shook her head.

“Whathadyou hoped for?”

“I mean, I knew the story wasn’t centred around a romantic happy ending since it’s more about the epic fantasy, but I was hoping for the main characters to end up together.”

“Have you read the newest one?”

“I wanted to, but it’s buried under the enormous pile of books I want to read.” She laughed shyly, glancing over her shoulder to her friends before her weary eyes landed on the book once more. “I tried binding my own books because I fell down the rabbit hole of fanfiction, but I’m not very crafty.”

“That’s how my sister started—with fanfiction. Then she moved on to her favourites.”

“I think it looks amazing.” The woman gave him a shy wave, and turned to leave. “Well, thanks.”

The next words out of Decan’s mouth were completely involuntary. “Do you want it?”

“What?” she asked, turning back to face him.

Her light blue eyes held him captive as he tried to soundconfident in his next words. He felt rather out of practice, but there was something about her that he wasn’t ready to let go of yet. “The book. She never bound the others because she hated this one’s colour, so it always looks out of place on my bookshelf.”

She stared at him, lips forming a perfect O. As if he’d been possessed, he grabbed a pen and flipped the book to the last page, scribbling down his name and number. Shit, he felt stupid, but he had to at least try.

“Here,” he said a little firmer than he’d intended, thrusting the book at her.

Were her hands shaking? But before he could confirm, she had the book clasped tightly to her chest, her cheeks a beautiful cherry red. “Thank you.” Then she was off, returning to her girlfriends.

Decan had no desire to hang around and possibly look even weirder, so he grabbed his belongings and made his way back to his car. Houston was in the midst of summer, so his palms started sweating immediately. He opened his trunk and pulled himself to his feet. Once steady, he held onto the car with one hand while lifting his wheelchair inside with the other. As soon as everything was secure and closed up, he pulled himself along the roof rails and towards the driver’s door.

Two years ago, he’d been too embarrassed to get into his car—even more than being seen in the wheelchair. It had taken a long while for him to be proud of his accomplishments, no matter how insignificant they seemed to others.

After a short drive, he arrived at his apartment buildingin the Galleria Area. He parked in his spot and then took the elevator to the sixth floor. The ink had barely been dry on the papers for the apartment when he’d had his accident, so even though he hadn’t wanted to, he’d renovated it to fit his new needs. He’d installed rails disguised as mouldings, carpet had been replaced by hardwood, and his shower had been expanded to accommodate a chair. Though he appreciated all the small accessible details, he loved that he’d found ways to keep them discreet—less clinical.

As much as he tried not to, Decan checked his phone constantly, hoping the woman from the coffee shop would contact him. He’d learned a long time ago not to get his hopes up, but she was cute. Damn, he should have at least asked for her name.

Decan needed a distraction from the girl with the dirty-blonde hair and the curious blue eyes, so he pulled his laptop out and started working through his emails and client bookings. He’d been an editor for a publishing company but after his accident, he enjoyed being his own boss.

After finishing up a virtual meeting with one of his authors, he checked his phone again—and his heart leapt. There was a missed call from a number he didn’t recognize, and they’d left a voicemail. Decan tried not to get his hopes up. He was used to rejection. The few times he’d attempted anything, they would either draw the line at being friends or stop contacting him altogether. He opened the voicemail and brought the phone to his ear.

“Hi, this is Hope. We met at the coffee shop earlier.” She trailed off for a moment, seeming to find her confidence. “I was hoping we could meet up again soon. Call me back.”

Decan didn’t hesitate to return the call, and Hope answered quickly. “Decan!”

Was thathappinessin her voice? “Sorry I missed your call. I was in a meeting.”