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“Very. It’s not often you do what you’re told.”
“I only took the pills because you made dinner.”
“Then it’s a good thing I didn’t tell you someone else made the meal.”
“Who?”
“Carly Porter.” He placed Sarah’s water glass on the coffee table. “She stopped by while you were sleeping.”
A thoughtful expression crossed Sarah’s face. “That sure is nice of Carly.”
Sarah’s voice sounded tight, almost on edge. A good thing she’d taken her pills. “Carly and her husband are good people. Jake’s the one who owns the brewpub.”
A corner of Sarah’s mouth curved upward in a lopsided smile. “Oh, you mentioned him earlier.”
The timer on the oven dinged.
“Dinner’s ready,” Cullen said. “You can eat on the couch.”
“I’ve been eating in bed. I’d rather sit at the table, if that’s okay?”
His stomach twisted. This would be their first meal together since she’d brought up divorce.
She touched her cast. “If you’d rather I eat here—”
“The table works.” He was being stupid. Just because the last time had ended badly didn’t mean this time would. Hell, he’d wanted to kiss her a few minutes ago. No matter how he looked at this situation, an epic fail seemed imminent. “Give me a sec.”
Cullen set the table. Utensils clattered against the plates. His hands shook. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him, but he felt clumsy, a way he wasn’t used to feeling.
He placed the hot casserole dish, bowls of rice and refried beans and a bottle of sparkling apple cider on the table. He left the six-pack of Wy’East Brewing Company’s Hogsback Ale, courtesy of Jake, in the refrigerator. Cullen needed his wits about him with Sarah here. “Dinner’s ready.”
He helped her up from the couch, conscious of her every movement and aware of each brush of his skin sparking against hers.
She squeezed his hand. “Thanks.”
A lump formed in his throat. He grumbled, “You’re welcome,” then escorted her to the table. He kept his arm around her in case she became light-headed—yeah, that was the reason, all right—pulled out a chair and helped her sit. His hand lingered on her back.
“Everything looks delicious,” she said.
Her lips sure did. What was he doing? Sarah had an excuse for acting loopy. Cullen didn’t. He looked away and dropped his hand to his side.
“I can’t believe someone made you dinner.” She sounded amazed.
He sat across from her, then dished up chicken enchiladas smothered in a green tomatillo sauce. “Carly and Jake did this for you, too.”
“No one’s ever done something like this for me.”
He dropped a spoonful of refried beans onto her plate and then his. “People are helpful in Hood Hamlet.”
She motioned to the serving spoon in his hand. “You included.”
Cullen added a scoop of the rice. “You’ll serve yourself soon enough.”
Sarah’s shoulders drooped as if someone had let the air out of her. “I’d make a big mess right now, and you’d have to clean up after me.”
That was what she’d done with the divorce. Left him to deal with it. He took a sip of the sparkling cider. The sweetness did nothing to alter the bitter taste in his mouth. Maybe a beer wasn’t such a bad idea. Just one. He never had any more than that.
“You’re smart for serving tonight,” she continued.
A smart man would never have allowed his heart to overrule logic so that he ended up marrying a total stranger in Las Vegas. “Just trying to be helpful.”
“I…appreciate it.”
As they ate, Cullen wondered if she did. She hadn’t appreciated what he’d done when they were together.
Bubbles rose in his glass, making him think of champagne. Marriage was like champagne bubbles, first rising in pairs, then groups of three, then individually. He was thankful he and Sarah had skipped the middle part by not having a baby right away. A divorce was bad enough without having to deal with a custody battle. “It’s a practical decision. I don’t have time for extra chores tonight. I have to work the graveyard shift at the hospital tomorrow night and need to get back into my routine.”
Maybe sleeping in his bed at home would give him a restful night of sleep. He hoped so.
She studied him over the rim of her glass. “Who will be my nursemaid?”
“I found the perfect babysitter.”
Sarah stuck her tongue out at him.
That was more like it. He grinned. “We could go with nanny if you prefer.”
She waved her cast in the air. “I bet this thing could do some damage.”
“To yourself most definitely.”
“Very funny.” She feigned annoyance, but laughter danced in her eyes. “So who’s stuck here with me first?”
“Leanne Thomas,” Cullen said. “I know her from OMSAR. She’s also a paramedic.”
“Sounds capable.”
“I’d trust her with my life. In fact, I have,” he admitted. “You’ll be in good hands.
“I’m in good hands now.”
He appreciated the words, but he’d fallen down on the job this afternoon. “I’m trying to do my best.”
“You are,” she agreed. “I’m not sure how I’ll ever repay you.”
“You don’t have to.” That was the truth. He didn’t want anything from her. Well, except to finalize their divorce. Soon…“I remember what it was like.”
Wrinkles formed on her forehead. “Remember what what was like?”
“To have a broken arm.”
She leaned over the table. “When did you break your arm?”
“I was eleven.” He took another enchilada from the pan. “Want more?”
“No, thanks.” Sarah stared at him. “I had no idea about your arm. How did you break it?”
“A soccer tournament. This big kid shoved me out of bounds after I scored a goal. I landed wrong and fractured my arm in two places.”
“Ouch.”
“That’s all I could say in between grimacing and crying.” She drew back, as if horror. “You cry?”
“Past tense. I was eleven.”
“I’m teasing,” she said. “Nothing wrong with crying, no matter what your age.”
“Only if you’re an emotional, overwrought sissy man.”
“Wouldn’t want someone to take away your man card.”
“Damn straight.”
She sipped her cider. “Tell me more about your broken arm.”
He patted his mouth with a napkin. “Not much more to tell. It happened in early July, so I spent the rest of my summer in a cast. It sucked.”
“You do know how I feel.”
He nodded. “I couldn’t swim or go in the sprinklers. I wasn’t allowed to ride my bike or skateboard. No going on rides at the county fair, either. Casts weren’t allowed.”
“That must have been the worst summer of your life.”
Nope. That was a toss-up between last summer when he was trying to get over her and the summer after his brother died. But her rejection had hurt lots more than his arm fracture. He was relieved he’d moved past that. “It wasn’t fun, but I survived. So will you.”
His tone came out harsh, without an ounce of sympathy or compassion. He needed to try harder. Apologize. Being with Sarah brought out strong feelings and emotions, ones he would rather forget existed. He’d seen what losing control had done to Blaine. Cullen wouldn’t allow the same thing to happen to him.
Forks scraped against plates. Glasses were raised and returned to the table. The lack of conversation was awkward. But Cullen didn’t know what to do about it. He’d never known what to do with Sarah except kiss her and take her to bed.
Not an option. Even if a part of him wished it were.
As Cullen loaded the dishwasher, Sarah sat at the table with a plate of cookies within arm’s reach. Medication dulled the pain, but made her feel as if she’d drunk one beer too many. Maybe that was why dinner with Cullen had seemed so weird. Forget walking on eggshells—the floor was covered in shattered glass and she kept stepping on the shards.
An uncomfortable silence had enveloped them during the meal. The same unsettling quiet had consumed their marriage. If Sarah could have made it to the guest bedroom on her own, she would have bolted after she’d finished eating. But, since she couldn’t, death by chocolate chips sounded like the best alternative.
She bit into a cookie. The sweet flavor exploded in her mouth. “Great cookie.”
Cullen glanced over his shoulder. “Carly is known for her baking skills.”
“I can see why.” Sarah had been surprised about Cullen’s broken arm. She wondered what else she didn’t know about him. Sex had been the way they’d been able to communicate best. But even that hadn’t been enough after a while. Uh-oh. Thinking about sex and Cullen wasn’t going to help matters. “I think I’ll have another cookie.”
“Save me one.”
She held her left hand above the plate. “There are over a dozen.”
Cullen glanced over his shoulder. Amusement—at least that was what she hoped it was—flashed in his eyes. “I know how much you love cookies.”
“You gave me a cookie bouquet for my birthday.” That had been five months into their marriage. He’d also covered their bed with rose petals. A romantic gesture when romance had been nonexistent. “They were tasty.”
“I never got one.”
“That’s because you left for your shift at the hospital and I didn’t hear from you for two days.”
Cullen gave her one of those you-have-to-be-kidding looks. “I had to work.”
By the time he’d returned, the cookies had been eaten and the rose petals had wilted. “You never called or texted. Not even during breaks.”
He tugged at his collar. “I need to concentrate when I’m at the hospital.”
He had never owned up to his behavior in the past. Why had she expected anything different now? Best to forget everything that had happened between them. Good or bad. She pushed the plate of cookies away. “Help yourself. You’ll have to roll me back to my room if I eat any more.”
“Roll you, carry you.” He bent to put something in the dishwasher. “Not much difference.”
Maybe not for him.
A wave of helplessness washed over her, threatening to drown her. She hated not being able to do anything on her own. She hated being at someone else’s mercy. She hated relying on anybody. Oh-so-familiar disappointment pressed down on her. She had finally been getting everything on track when life threw a rock at her. She didn’t want to have to depend on Cullen. She didn’t want to end up needing him.
The tight ball of emotion in her belly unraveled like yarn, sending pent-up feelings rolling through her.
She couldn’t unsnap her bra or button her jeans or be the kind of wife a man would love forever.
Tears stung her eyes.
Oh, no. Sarah didn’t want him to see her like this. She was independent and strong, not needy and emotional. Except, the only thing she felt like doing right now was crying.
She blinked. She looked up. Drops still fell. She dabbed her eyes with the napkin.
Time to get out of here.
Without Cullen’s help.
Using her left hand, she pushed against the table. Mantling had always been a favorite climbing move, but this took more effort than she was used to exerting. Her muscles protested. Her abdomen ached. Still she managed to stand, scooting the chair back in the process.
Cullen looked at her. Forks clattered into the sink. He rushed to her side. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t need to be rolled or carried.” Her voice cracked. “I can do it myself.”
Except she couldn’t. All she wanted to do was sit. Pride kept her standing.
