Page 31 of Honeybees and Sexy Tees
“Told me what?” Her head tipped the other way, confusion in her eyes.
“Why don’t I show you the house, then we can have some lemonade in the sunroom?” I asked, leading her in through the Dutch door.
Without letting her answer, I took her on a full tour of the house. She ran her hand lovingly over the same things I did—the stove in the kitchen, the railing on the staircase, and the intricate trim along the doorframes. She stood at the window in the sunroom and gazed out at the lake.
“This is an amazing view,” she said, her voice wistful. “We don’t have windows at Butterfly Junction.”
“Maybe it’s time you guys move out of that apartment,” I said, rubbing her shoulders lovingly. “It was never meant as a place for two people and a dog to live. It was meant for a single guy who did nothing more than eat, shower, and sleep there.”
She nodded her head thoughtfully. “You’re right, and we know it too. We’ve tried looking for a place, but there’s nothing in the area that’s accessible for Gulliver.”
“Which is bad for him?”
“He’s okay with stairs, but with his leg condition, he could need a wheelchair at any time.”
“Not to mention, if he ever slipped on the stairs or dropped a crutch, he could fall and get hurt.”
“Or killed,” she added, chewing on her lip. “Which is why we stay for now.”
I squeezed her hand and gave her a few moments. Her fiancé had limb length discrepancy after a childhood injury to his thigh. Then, when he was a teenager, Gulliver developed a condition that bowed his uninjured leg until it was almost unusable. He walks with a compensating shoe lift on his shorter leg, a brace on his bowed leg, and crutches to help him stay stable. For a man who had every right to be angry about his lot in life, he was the sweetest, kindest, most loving guy I’d ever known. Mathias was loving and sweet but in a much different way. He was refined, reserved, and calculated, where Gulliver was more like an eager puppy who wants to offer his love in return for yours.
“Something will come up. I promise. Then again, maybe you need to buy a piece of land and put up a house that will work for both of you. You guys have the means to do it considering the pesticide money that’s coming in. I’m sure Mathias could help you get the most bang for your buck.”
“I know,” she agreed with a nod of her head. “We’re thinking along the same lines, actually. I was used to living in my little motor home where everything was my size. Now that I’m a little person living in a big person’s world, I struggle with a lot of things. It would be nice to build a place with an open concept that will benefit the both of us. We vowed to get serious about finding a place after the wedding.”
“Well, in the meantime, you’re welcome to sit out here anytime you need fresh air and space.”
“Don’t offer if you don’t mean it because I just might. This room is wow.” Her grin as she motioned around the room told me she was as taken with it as I was.
The room opened to the sitting room with French doors, sported a gray wooden floor, shiplap ceiling, and an old-fashioned ceiling fan you’d be more likely to see in the South than in a home off Lake Superior. Next to the fan hung an iron lantern that offered light at night. A swing hung from the ceiling by boat line and was the perfect place to sit while you stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a field of summer wheat and beyond that, the lake. The rest of the room was filled with white wicker rocking chairs and old tables that were probably left by the original owner of the house. The room was cozy, warm, and bright, and I spent a lot of time here staring out the windows and wondering what the hell I was doing with my life. Not to mention, coming to terms with the things Mathias had been saying and doing the last few months. My hand went to my lips, and I paused at the thought that crossed my mind.
What if I’m a terrible kisser?
Charity’s hand grasped my wrist. “Are you okay?” she asked, staring at me with a question in her eye.
I snapped my attention back to her. “Uh, yeah, sorry.”
“Mathias told us about the seizures. I was worried for a second.”
“Nope,” I promised, holding up my right hand. “See, my fingers are normal. I was just daydreaming, sorry.”
We walked to the swing hanging from the ceiling and sat. I rocked it a bit with my toes until it was swaying.
“Is that why your fingers were sticking up in the air the day I was at your house?” she asked curiously.
“Apparently,” I said with chagrin. “I didn’t know it then, but that’s what the neurologist told us when I saw him recently.”
“Gulliver and I are terribly worried about you, but the guys got the insurance information done this morning, so you’ll be covered in a few days.”
“Thank you, that’s a relief. I have insurance, but it won’t cover the specialists I’ll need to see now that I have another diagnosis. I don’t want Mathias’s family to keep paying for everything, you know?” My shoulders slumped from fatigue and embarrassment.
“You want some independence from them. That’s easy to understand,” she agreed, holding my hand.
“Independence when you are multiply neurodivergent like me is a bit of a fallacy.”
“Multiply neurodivergent?” she asked, confusion in her voice.
“It’s the term Dr. Newsome used for my brain disorder. I have multiple different neurological conditions that form the diagnosis.”
