Page 64 of Debugging Love

Some of her guilt fades. “I’m really sorry about your elbow.”

And my hip, and my knee. Actually my hip isn’t groaning anymore. “I’d do it all over again,” I say with a smile, and I more than mean it.

We walk side by side to the stairs.

“I have a weird thing about bugs,” she says. “When I was little we had a bedbug infestation, which gave me nightmares, which led to a phobia. I’m not sure when the throwing up started. I think it’s a stress response. We killed all the bedbugs, by the way, but it was an ordeal.”

“I bet.” My knee whines as I push up onto the first step.

“Your parents are rich. You probably never had bedbugs or ants or anything. We had carpenter ants too.”

“We had termites. They had to tent the house.”

“I bet that was a big tent.”

“It was.”

“Because you had a big house.”

“Yeah.” I glance over at her, intending to smile. When we lock eyes, hers grow concerned.

“You’re wincing.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are. You just did this.” She scrunches up her nose, which makes me laugh.

“You look like you just stepped in dog poop,” I say.

“Is it your knee?”

“Nah. It’s fine. Mostly.”

We reach the breezeway between our apartments where we linger, Danni with that guilty look again, and me trying not to look like I just stepped in dog poop. She reaches out and brushes her fingertips against my bruised elbow. The swelling has gone down, but it still looks pretty ripe. Her touch is good medicine.

“I guess we’re even now. You made my butt cheek look like Uranus and I made your elbow look like my grandma’s Cherokee Purple.”

This is one of the many times I appreciate my medium-toned skin. She probably can’t tell my cheeks started burning when she said the word “butt.” We’re also in the shade, which helps. “What’s a Cherokee Purple?”

“A tomato.”

“Oh.” My burning cheeks give way to awkward laughter.

Danni drops her hand. “Well. Thanks again. I hope it looks better tomorrow.”

“I’m sure it will.”

We turn and head to our separate apartments. Once inside, I feel the spot on my elbow where Danni’s fingers connected. If my skin wasn’t already burning from inflammation, I’m sure it would be burning from her touch.

I drop into my gaming chair, lean over, and rub my face. My mind replays the scene in the conference room when I got to play hero and save Danni’s day. I pause on the moment she looked up at me vulnerably, her guard down–team lead Danni, expert coder gone. Just Danni. I wish it hadn’t taken a terrifying spider for her to look at me like that. But I’ll still take it.

With a tap of my mouse, I wake up my computer. JustInCase.xlsx appears on my right screen. I’ve added several lines since my date with Danni. Three of them are waiting for me to fill them in, the dates already agreed to and scheduled.

I let the spreadsheet glow brightly in the room while I retreat to the kitchen and prepare a quick dinner. It continues to glow as I lounge on my couch watching Seinfeld reruns. I walk over and minimize it before grabbing my Xbox controller and returning to my couch. My elbow and knee throb while I race around Maple Valley. I’m about to finally give in and take an aspirin when there’s a knock on my door.

It’s Danni. She’s holding a gift bag. It has a cat wearing a cone on it along with the words “Get Well Soon.”

“Hey,” I say in greeting.

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