Page 41 of Beyond the Stroke

It must be the lack of physical touch that’s making me feel all sorts of strange things for this guy. A guy I barely know, yet feel completely at ease with.

The moment I see Rory pull up in his Jeep with Edgar in the passenger seat, I don’t know whether to swoon or spit venom. Self-preservation has me choosing the latter.

“Where have you been?” I snap, marching over to the passenger seat to retrieve Edgar.

“Well, I had early morning dryland practice, then I came back here and you were still sleeping so I took Edgar with me to grab coffee.”

“And you trusted this guy?—”

“Walter’s the name,” Walter chimes in from where he’s at my open van door, studying the lock.

“I had no idea where Edgar was. I woke up and thought he’d been kidnapped.”

“Sorry about that. Based on how hard you were sleeping, I figured we’d be back before you woke up.”

“You were out cold. I heard you snoring from out here.” I turn to find Walter hiking up the waistband of his pants right before fastening his toolbelt around his midsection.

My jaw drops at Walter’s accusation.

“What is he talking about? I don’t snore.”

I expect Rory to agree with me, but he just gives me a soothing look.

“Don’t worry. It’s nothing a nasal strip can’t fix.”

I don’t want to be deeply offended by their casual conversation about my nighttime breathing habits, but part of me hates other people knowing such intimate details about me.

But I know a nasal strip won’t fix the issue. It’s more likely that I’m snoring because my airway is inflamed. If I were using the right dosage of medication, instead of rationing it, I’d be less likely to snore.

“I’m going to get started on the lock. Should only be about twenty minutes or so.”

“Thanks, Walt. We’ll be inside.”

Rory lifts the coffees in his hands, motioning for us to step inside. I follow—for the coffee, I tell myself.

eleven

. . .

RORY

Inside the van, I hand Summer a coffee. It’s a small space and Walter is working right behind us but as he hums along, I notice he’s put ear buds in to listen to music.

I’d thought her van was incredible when I saw it last night, but seeing the space in the daylight intrigues me even more. In the small kitchen there are wooden countertops and white cabinets with antique glass knobs, along with a cast iron stove and a small refrigerator in a teal color that matches the exterior of the van.

A group of plants hang from macrame pots between the kitchen and living area. A plush, patterned rug runs along the length of the floor where the loft is located toward the front of the van. Wooden shelves are built above the sitting area for book storage, and of course the dining nook with Edgar’s dog bed underneath.

Summer sets Edgar down in his bed and he immediately props his chin on the corner of it, his big eyes shining up at us for a moment before his eyelids sink.

“Wasn’t sure how you like it, so I left it black.”

She studies it a moment before taking the cup and setting it on the wooden countertop.

“Thanks.”

I watch as she reaches into the refrigerator, my eyes following the line of her long, bare legs extending from her tiny sleep shorts. Her blonde hair is tousled from sleep and her eyes are puffy from the crying she did last night. None of that changes the fact that she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Did I have a raging boner half the night?

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