Page 34 of My (Not So) Perfect Plan

My exercises are getting better and I want to say some of the ligaments in my knee are starting to heal. We keep the door open while we work, but that doesn’t stop me from flirting with her. Her cheeks go pink and she gets this little smile every time I say anything that implies she’s attracted to me or me to her, but she holds her own and responds with spunk and more wit than I can handle. Some of the things she says I don’t understand, and when I press her to explain them, she blushes deeply and admits that she has a small addiction to Regency romance novels that may sometimes affect her speech. It’s adorable.

After she leaves later in the afternoon, I count down the hours until nine when we’ve begun a routine of texting each other. After a few texts, I call, even though every time I tell myself I’m just going to say good night with a few texts. I love the way her voice gets all sleepy, and then we hang up right before she falls asleep.

Tonight’s no different but apparently she senses how nervous I am about the surgery tomorrow. She surprises me with a phone call.

“Hey, I don’t want you worrying about tomorrow.” Her voice is all soft and breathy like she just finished working out. The sound of it has my heart going though, imagining what it would sound like if we were engaged in other activities. That distracts me for half a second before her words register.

“What if they screw it up?” I ask. That’s my biggest fear.

“They aren’t going to screw it up. Not gonna happen.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “If I ask you to do something for me, will you?”

“I know you’re a Christian woman and you won’t ask me to do anything sketchy, so yes, I will.”

She laughs quietly. “I want you to imagine all your worries and your fears of tomorrow as tangible things… like furry balls or something.”

My imagination supplies what looks like dirty balls of foil.

“Okay,” I say.

“Okay. You have your mental image?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, those are your worries. I want you to imagine picking each one of them up and putting them into a wooden crate.”

I hum as I imagine myself doing this.

“Done.”

“Good. Now take that crate and imagine throwing it into a dumpster.” She pauses a beat while I take out my imaginary trash. “ Now, take a deep breath. Your worries are gone.”

I take a deep breath. I’m definitely more relaxed.

“How did you do that?” I ask, surprised.

“I’m a big believer in the power of suggestion to produce actual results.”

“So, like, mind over matter.”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Thanks.”

“Did it help?”

I laugh. “Yeah.”

“Than my job here is done!”

We talk for a few more minutes before her voice starts to get sleepy again.

“Thanks for letting me take your truck home, Evan,” Claire says.

“Guess that makes us official, huh?”

“Noooo… but it does mean you’re letting me borrow your truck.”

I laugh a snort. “Yeah, right! Under what scenario would I let someonenotmy girlfriend borrow my truck?”

---