Page 21 of Blue Moon Love

Two days ago, he texted; now, he is calling, which means he is stepping up his game.

“Alright, cutie, it looks like you’re gettin’ outta here.” Mary Beth Martin, who I learned was retiring at the end of the week after a forty-five-year nursing career, winked at me as she walked into the room with a plastic bag of medication and paperwork.

“Thanks for the extra Jell-O.”

Yesterday, after I woke up from surgery, Mary Beth smuggled me in a dozen Jell-O servings because it was the only thing that sounded good.

“Anytime. Now, I’m not one to offer my two cents, especially when ya ain’t asked for it, but, not for nothin’, that girl out there is a keeper.”

“I know.”

“I hope you listen to Beyoncé and put a ring on it,” she said with a smile, but sounded serious.

“Oh, she’s not… we’re not together. We’re just friends.”

“Sure ya are.” Mary Beth smiled widely, as if she’d just heard a load of BS.

No one ever believed that there was nothing going on between me and Kenna, but the sad truth was that there wasn’t and there never would be. Did I love the girl? Hell yeah. Would I ever act on it? Hell no. She deserved a hell of a lot better than me.

Mary Beth talked me through my discharge papers and then helped me into the private bathroom with the assistance of my crutches. Once I was alone, I changed into the clothes that Kenna had brought for me. By the time I was dressed, my teeth were brushed, and I’d given myself a whore’s bath, I was exhausted. My crutches were leaning against the wall, and I carefully placed them under my armpits and then opened the door. I hobbled out and saw that Kenna was back in the room, sitting on a chair in the corner.

She glanced up and asked, “You ready?”

I nodded. “I can’t wait to go crawl into my bed.”

Her face cringed.

“What?” What was she not telling me?

“How do you feel about my bed?”

My heart slammed into my chest, and my entire body tingled with awareness. I was sure that I was hearing things, and she hadn’t just invited me to her bed. “Your bed?”

“You’re staying with me for the next two weeks.”

“With you?” In her bed? When we were kids, I used to crawl through her window and stay in her bed whenever my parents were fighting, which was often. And then, after my parents died, I’d go to Kenna’s room just so I could sleep. “Why?”

“You can’t walk upstairs.”

She was right. I remembered Dr. Mathis telling me that I wouldn’t be able to drive or walk upstairs for two weeks, at least.

“I’ll stay on my couch.” I hated, and I mean loathed with a fiery passion, having anyone have to take care of me. I never wanted to be dependent on another human being or inconvenience a single soul.

“How are you going to use the bathroom?” she countered.

Shit. My two-bed one-bath home did not have a restroom on the first floor. Both the bedrooms and bath were upstairs. I hadn’t cared when I bought it. The only thing I cared about at the time was being next door to Kenna.

I’d grown up living next door to the Hales all my life. When I was in the military and she was in college, was the first time she wasn’t just a few steps away; it had been fucking brutal. After graduation, she moved back into her parents’ house, which was perfect because after I got out of the Marine Corps I moved back into my childhood home with Witty.

After college, she lived with her parents to save up and buy a house. Then, about five years ago, she’d managed to purchase her first home. Her move coincided with Witty deciding he wanted to live at Sunset Acres. I sold my parents’ house and used the money to pay for his care and put a down payment on the house next door to hers. I hadn’t even looked at it before I had Jan Jenson, Wishing Well’s sole realtor, draw up the papers.

“You’re staying with me. This is not up for discussion.” Kenna’s brows lifted slightly in challenge, the way they did when she was digging her heels in. It was fucking adorable.

She was fucking adorable.

11

KENNA

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