“That’s a shame. I would have preferred your coconut lotion to the antibacterial gel I only ever smelled there.” Her cheeks flushed a little, and I continued, “You’re free to wear your weekend scent here.” I took a quick glance down her body, knowing she was watching me, so I didn’t take my time. “You also don’t have to wear scrubs.”

“Oh, but I want to.” She pulled at the looseness of her pants. “Once you go scrubs, you never go back. They’re like yoga pants, the most comfortable things invented.”

At least yoga pants were tight, showing the sexiest curves and that beautiful dip between a woman’s legs. Scrubs left much to be desired.

She slid to the edge of her seat. “Your fridge is packed, and much of it is filled with already-prepared meals that only have to be heated. Your housekeeper told me your family had it all sent over this morning.” She was chewing the corner of her lip when she added, “What’s going to happen when the deliveries stop?”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“IVs, medications, wound care—I can do that in my sleep. But cooking terrifies me.”

I chuckled at the embarrassment that was spreading across her face, a look I hadn’t seen on her before. “Whitney, you don’t know your way around a kitchen?”

She shook her head. “Oatmeal and macaroni and cheese—that’s about the extent of my knowledge.”

I sighed, my head sinking deeper into the pillow, my eyes shutting as I remembered the meal I’d cooked to perfection a few nights before the bombing—lamb shank with Parmesan risotto and roasted vegetables. “It’s one of my passions.”

“Yeah? Then, that’s going to become a goal.”

I opened my eyes as she was grabbing a small notepad and pen from the same place that had housed the cards. When she finished writing, she turned it toward me.

“Cook a meal for my family,” I read out loud. I recalled the conversation we’d had in the hospital, how a milestone should be reached every night before I went to sleep. “We’re really going to have daily goals?”

“That’s how we’re going to get through this, Caleb, and we’re going to do it together.”

I looked down at my legs, an impressive ache constantly present; even the slightest twitch would shoot an intolerable pain through me. “That’s hours of standing when I’ve barely even walked to the bathroom.” And that had been with the help of a walker, my hands gripping it like I was ninety fucking years old. “That’s one hell of an aggressive goal.”