Page 86 of Someone to Watch Over Me

By the time Tom comes in from cardiac rehab, I’m making a turkey sandwich for lunch. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

I make a second one for him, but I substitute carrot sticks for the chips he’d usually have.

“Thank you,” he says when I put the plate in front of him at the counter bar.

“How was it?”

“It was fine. They hooked me up to an EKG and had me do some exercise. I go back again the day after tomorrow, when I’ll also meet with a nutrition counselor.”

“How often will you go?”

“Three days a week, which will be interesting when I go back to work the week after next.”

“Is that too soon to go back to work?”

“I don’t think so. I’m feeling pretty good already.”

“I’m still worried about you doing too much too soon.”

“I know you are, but you don’t need to worry. The last thing I want is another incident. Trust me.” He takes my hand and brushes a kiss across the back of it. “I have much better things to do than be sick.”

His meaning registers and makes me feel warm all over.

I’d forgotten what this was like, to be deep in the trenches of intense attraction, knowing what’s coming—soon. The buildup is almost as good as the event itself.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asks.

“Anticipation.” What I’m trying not to think about are the wordswidow-maker. I’m already a widow. I can’t go there. I just cannot.

He pauses midchew, brows raised as he reaches for his glass of water. “What about it?”

Pushing aside the ever-present fear of someday losing him, too, I say, “How it can be every bit as exciting as what comes next.”

“Damn it, Lexi. Don’t talk about it until you’re ready to follow through. It’s not good for my heart to have all thesehighsandlows.”

I hold back a laugh when I realize he’s not talking about his heart. “I’m ready. You’re the one with restrictions.”

“Now you’re just being mean to me.”

I lose it laughing, reminding myself that he’s here, he’s healthy and beautifully alive. I’ve learned as a widow that all we have is right now, and my right now is rather lovely, thanks to him. “How do you figure?”

“I have four more days to go.”

“So that means I’m not allowed to talk about it until then?”

“That’s exactly what it means.”

“Then I guess no more kissing or otherpreliminaries.”

“When did I say that?”

“You’re being ridiculous. Not to change the subject or anything, but my parents invited us to dinner tonight.”

“Good. Keep talking about your parents. That’s the ultimate cockblocker.”

I sputter with laughter. “I cannot believe you just said that about my parents.” Suddenly, my eyes are full of tears as it occurs to me that the banter with him is reminiscent of my relationship with Jim, and I realize how much I’ve missed having that with a partner.

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