The Love at First Sight Box Set

breath while my fingers gripped the locked door handle on the door behind mine.
Three.
Four.
I reached the back of the car and yanked open the hatch. When it was up, and I could see my chair, I took a second to close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of standing on both feet. The air felt different on my face when I was standing. But it required so much mental energy to get that feeling. Nothing about it was unconscious or second nature. Not anymore. What direction were my feet pointing? Did I have something to hold?
That stretched a mental muscle as much as it made my physical ones shake and groan in protest.
Turning slowly, I sat down in the back of the car and used both hands to pull my chair out until it bounced on the pavement.
This was one of the things I never even thought about.
Flinging my chair out, flipping the lever of the brake until I heard the click, then sliding my body from the car into the chair, I leaned back up to pull the hatch down on the car, then flipped the lever again so I could move forward once my feet were on the footplate between the two small stability wheels.
I didn't second-guess any of those motions.
Locking the car as I passed it, I got to the front door and punched the blue button that would swing the door open.
What? Yeah, I could've done it, but if I was about to have my ass kicked by the new dude, then not opening the door felt like an important conservation of my energy.
In the back corner of the office, one of the therapists was working with an elderly gentleman on some gait training. She smiled at me when I came in.
"Andrew will be right out for you, Joss!"
I waved at her and pushed myself in a quick circle while I waited. On my second rotation, my head almost snapped clean off my neck when I saw my new PT, Andrew.
Andrew. Andy. Also known as Brad/Chris. Also, also known as Cupcake Guy.
His face mirrored my shock.
"It's you," I said like a big ole dummy.
"Hey." He glanced down at the file in his hands. "Jocelyn Abernathy, huh?"
"That's … that's me."
His broad chest was covered in a Maryville PT T-shirt, and my first terrible thought was, oh gawd, my hair looks like I stuck a key into a light socket and held on for about five seconds.
Andrew set the file down and crossed his arms over that chest. "What a small world."
My cheeks felt hot as I attempted a smile. "Sure is. Do you live in Maryville?"
He shook his head, looking far less uncomfortable than I was feeling. "I live closer to Green Valley, but I'm from here originally. Just moved back."
"Ah."
Andrew snagged a stool and pulled it in front of where I was nervously moving my chair back and forth in tight movements. His hand reached out and grabbed the front of my wheel. "I know it's not easy to start with a new PT, but you have nothing to be nervous about, okay?"
Ha. I looked like a homeless person. He was the first man to give me anything remotely related to butterflies in … well, ever … and now I got to do the one thing I hated in front of him, look clumsy and unsure and awkward.
Absolutely nothing to be nervous about while he sat here looking like he popped out of GQ for physical therapists.
"Let's start small, okay?" He let go of the wheel and hung his hands between his legs while he looked at my face. "Do you use your chair more than you should?"
I raised an eyebrow. "That's starting small? You might as well ask me to give my confession."
His face split in a smile. "Instead of Hail Marys, I'll just make you work harder."
"Great." I sighed and glanced up at the ceiling. "Yes, I use my chair more than I should. Since Denise left, I've done some work, but …" my voice trailed off.
"Not enough," he supplied.
"Not enough." It felt like the hardest thing I could've possibly done, but I looked him straight in the eye. "I've mastered so many things since my accident, and I don't like how it makes me feel to do something poorly. I feel … I feel like a failure. I feel clumsy."
He nodded. "Good."
"That so?" I drawled.
Andrew stood and tilted his chin toward where we'd start working. "Yeah. You're competitive. If you don't like feeling that way, then I have no doubt you'll work as hard as I ask to get you to the point where you don't feel like a failure." He stopped and leaned up against a desk. "Look, your walk may never be smooth, Joss. I won't bullshit you there. You need to re-frame the way you look at what you can accomplish."
With the side of my file, he tapped my biceps. "I see those muscles, and I can guarantee you've worked your ass off to get them, right?"
I lifted my chin. "Yes, I have."
"Good. Then let's get working on the rest of you, okay?" There was a walker about six feet behind him, and when he gave it a quick look, I knew what he wanted. "Show me what you've got, and we'll go from there."
When I started to wheel forward, he shook his head. I grumbled a really naughty word under my breath and locked my chair. He smothered his smile at my whispered expletive.
My butterflies were long gone, no matter how much he looked like Brad Pitt because I was too busy swallowing down the vain part of me that didn't want to stumble in front of this person. No one told you that your pride tasted like rotten acid going back down.
Quietly, Andrew sat back and watched my gait as I pushed up from my chair, braced my feet on the floor and made five halting, unsteady steps to the walker. I curled my hands around the handles