Page 23 of Wait For It

For only the second time in my life, I found I could speak without stammering, but no one could hear me.

How’s that for a paradox?

I shrugged noncommittally and went back to picking at my lunch. Tristan had returned to his stage, preaching the very sermon I’d heard in the van and giving interviews to any network that would have him.

“Is this seat taken?”

I paused in my pursuit of chasing an English pea across the plate and slowly raised my head. Except for the staff, no one spoke to me.

Ever.

My heart skipped and stumbled when our eyes met, temporarily forgetting the very crux of its existence.

Him.

I wasn’t sure who I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the crutch-wielding jerk from across the hall. I’d hoped our encounter in the hall was one we’d never repeat—yet, here he was again—proving that God must have had quite a sense of humor.

I’d spent a good chunk of my life wanting nothing more than to be seen, only to have my request granted at the most inopportune of times.

Be careful what you pray for, am I right?

“What’s that?” He leaned down as far as the crutches would allow, still towering over me in a way that felt intimidating. “Did you say something?”

Tiffani cleared her throat. “Well, she can’t—”

“Okay, great. Yeah, just place it right there,” he muttered distractedly. An aide placed his tray next to mine and returned to the kitchen before anyone could voice their objections.

Our new table mate flashed us a smile before glancing down to my wheelchair. “Oh, uh, you dropped something.”

A quick check of my lap confirmed the napkin lying near his feet was indeed mine. This was no paper napkin, either. Oh no,True Northonly used the best of everything. Linen napkins, starched tablecloths—even vases with fresh cut flowers.

It was such a stark change from the hospital—where everything was disposable and easily discarded. If I didn’t like the night nurse, it was just a matter of waiting for a shift change. Here, though, there was consistency with the staff and the well-decorated tables.

I pushed back from the table, only to be stopped by the sound of his voice.

“Stay there, I’ve got it.” He adjusted his weight and tried bending over, succeeding in rattling his crutches, but not much else. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, ridiculously satisfied in watching him make a scene over a scrap of linen.

“You know what? We’ll just do this,” he snagged a napkin off the table next to mine and handed it over with a flourish.

I placed it on my tray, searching his face through narrowed eyes. What was it he wanted? There had to be a hidden motive.

There always was.

He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of my stare before carefully lowering himself onto the empty chair beside me. A strand of jet-black hair flopped onto his forehead, and he casually brushed it back without once breaking eye contact. Gruff exterior notwithstanding, the man was ridiculously good-looking.

I should know.

I’d been watching him all week. It would have been impossible to miss how attractive he was, and while, I approved of his features immensely, it wasn’t what had drawn me to him.

“It’s like geriatric hell around here, right?” he asked before taking a bite of his sandwich.

In the hallway, he’d noticed me in the fleeting way one would a fly buzzing around their head, but I’d studied him for days, learning about the kind of man he was.

And the more I observed, the less I wanted to see.

Unfortunately, this time, my blatant gawking hadn’t gone unnoticed. Tiffani scrutinized the two of us, her eyes sparkling with sudden interest. It was a form of communication that needed no translation.

I jerked my head in response, the back of my neck prickling with heated embarrassment. Knowing my face was likely the color of a strawberry, I turned away and began carefully rearranging the peas into a straight line again.

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