CHAPTER NINE

MARCUS

I’m tasting the sweetness of Alice’s strawberry pie and the even sweeter taste of her kiss long after I leave. I hated having to dash out on her like that, but it was either seeing her for a short time today or cancelling altogether.

When she made the lunch date for today, I had forgotten about the service appointment for my wheelchair. General maintenance is something I handle on my own. It’s recommended that it get a full inspection and service at least once a year. Being without my main mode of mobility for any length of time is a nightmare and one that I don’t mess around with.

A few years back, I had an issue with my chair and had to use a rental one until mine was back in top form. That experience made me appreciate my chair even more. My ass and hips were both very unhappy with the subpar seat cushion on the rental one I used while mine was being serviced and repaired.

Since I can’t feel most of my lower body pressure sores are a real danger and a threat to my health. I’ll be damned if I survived that accident only to have a pressure sore end me.

At my appointment, I wait in the comfortable waiting area while a technician performs a complete safety and performance check on my chair. Having time to kill, I come up with a menu for tomorrow night’s dinner and order the groceries to be delivered later today.

It’s an extra cost, but the service I use instructs the delivery person to bring my groceries right into my kitchen for me and they’ll even help me in putting them away if necessary.

Being disabled isn’t cheap. From my hospital stay, rehab, equipment, buying a house and having it customized for my needs, getting my car modified, etc.. the expense, even with insurance paying a hefty amount, ate a big chunk into my sizeable savings.

I was fortunate to have a well-paying job before the accident and, even better, one I was able to continue working at after my recovery. Not everyone is that fortunate.

Despite everything that happened, I’m grateful for my life and after my wheelchair service, I feel that gratitude once again pulling into my garage.

I’ve been doing it so long now that pulling the pieces of my chair from the backseat and resembling it takes no time at all and soon I’m pushing up the slight ramp leading from the garage into the mudroom of my house.

It’s a sprawling one level home with four bedrooms and three bathrooms. All the doorways are wide enough for my chair to pass through comfortably without scraping my hands or pinching my fingers, and the hallways are spacious enough that someone could walk right by me without having to plaster themselves against the opposite wall.

My bedroom is perfectly outfitted for me along with an ensuite bathroom that features both a roll-in shower with a shower wheelchair and a walk-in bathtub with a seat I can comfortably get myself situated on before closing the door and letting the tub fill.

I don’t make much use of the tub, but it’s nice to have. I also have various handrails strategically placed to make transferring to and from the toilet easier.

The vanity is the perfect height for me in my chair and there is plenty of storage space underneath the sink for my supplies, which are sadly numerous.

I’m blessed not to currently need a catheter, but I have some on hand from the times when I did use them and it’s good to have them in case of emergencies. Same for diapers. It’s a reality I’ve had to come to terms with and accept.

Thankfully, four years ago, I had bladder surgery. That greatly improved my life, and I haven’t experienced a urinary infection since. Pressure sores and UTIs go hand in hand with spinal cord injuries. Something what feels like another lifetime ago, I was blissfully unaware of.

The other two bathrooms are left mostly unmodified for the comfort of guests. In the four years that I’ve lived here, I’ve only had a handful of people over, mostly family. I still treasure the available space and that goes for every part of my house. Most especially the kitchen with the custom counters and lower appliances.

Bob, one of my regular delivery drivers, arrives and we chat for a bit while putting away the groceries. He notices my larger than normal delivery and ribs me about putting on some weight. Eyeing up his sizeable gut, I grin and say I’m entertaining tomorrow. I tip him generously before he goes, and he wishes me well on my date.

Since I didn’t tell him it was a date, I’m a bit surprised. It also hits me that I never messaged Alice with my address.

A goofy grin, quite unlike my normal expression, spreads across my face as I text her. That grin grows when she responds immediately.

Not that I think anything will happen, but I included condoms with my order.

That’s when I realize that’s how Bob knew I had a date planned. Whether that surprised him or not, he kept that to himself and I’m grateful. My sex life is often the subject of curious people and one I’m not happy to share the details of.

Grabbing the box of condoms, I head to my bedroom and stash the box in the nightstand after tearing a few apart to make things easier in case things do proceed into the bedroom with Alice.

It’s not something I’m planning on, but I sure wouldn’t say no.

***

When I open the door, I finally understand the expression ‘take my breath away’ because that’s what Alice does. Her long blonde hair is loose and flows down over her shoulders, just barely covering the soft mounds of her breasts.

Breasts that my head rested upon just yesterday when she hugged me. At the time it took every ounce of my willpower not to nuzzle my face against them or reach up to palm one.

She’s in a dress similar to the one she was wearing on our first date. This one is a deep pink that highlights her creamy skin, blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. She’s beyond beautiful and as a numbers’ man I find myself incapable of expressing the overwhelming feelings she’s stirring within me.

“Marcus? Can I come in?”

Gulping, I nod and back up, giving her space to enter.

Her gaze roams around the room and suddenly it’s important that she finds my home as warm, comfortable, and inviting as I do. Because I can envision us spending a lot of time here together.

“Let me give you the tour,” I say, propelling myself around her and heading to the living room. I skip the bedrooms but show her the living room, dining room, where the nearest bathroom is, and end the mini tour in the kitchen where I have steaks and chicken marinating.

“Did you buy the place like this?” she asks, running a hand along the granite countertop that’s low enough for her to sit on, but at the perfect height for me to work at.

There’re no cabinets under the counters like there would be in a regular kitchen to allow me to roll right up to the counter, almost like it was a table. It’s perfectly functional for me, but for someone of average height or slightly taller than average, like Alice, they would strain their backs bending over to use the counter for anything more than occasional use.

“Everything was designed to be accessible for me,” I say, waving my hand around. I head over to the fridge, which has twin doors with a drawer-style freezer compartment on the bottom. “See?” I say, demonstrating how I have to open the freezer from the side.

Closing that. I go to the stainless-steel dishwasher next, which is set up higher than regular models. “This lessens the strain from bending.”

“Oh wow,” she breathes, walking around the fully open and assessable space. She stops at the oven which has controls in the front and features a side opening door.

“It’s so I don’t have to reach in as far. A conventional oven has the door opening downward, right where I am. I either have to come in from the side and reach over, risking burning myself or foolishly try to reach over the open door, again risking a nasty burn.”

“So much thought goes into this. I had no idea.”

I grin. “Neither did I until I needed it.” Shrugging, I wheel over to the sink, wash my hands, and then grab the platter with our chicken. “I didn’t know which you would prefer, so we have both chicken and steak.”

“You’re in luck. I happen to like both.”

I stick the pan of chicken in my lap and wheel over to the oven that’s been preheated, sliding it in and closing the door. The salad, I made ahead of time, is chilling in the fridge.

“Would you like wine, cola, or something else?”

Shrugging, she smiles. “I’ll take whatever you’re having.”

“Water it is.”

Fetching two glasses, I fill them at the fridge’s water dispenser. Alice scurries over and takes the glasses from me. I could have handled it, but I thank her.

“We have a few minutes before I start grilling the steaks. Why don’t we head into the living room?”

Nodding, Alice follows behind me and passes me my glass before taking a seat on the couch. Knowing I need to tend to our meal, I stay in my chair versus transferring to the couch with her.

“You have a lovely home, Marcus,” she says softly, holding her water glass and gazing about the room.

This room isn’t much different from anyone else’s, and I think that helps her relax as I see her settling back against the couch.

“Thank you.”

Silence hums between us and my eyes trail over her, lingering on the length of her long, sleek legs. She has flat shoes on, and it makes me grin.

“Don’t like heels?” I ask.

Startled, she has that deer in the headlights look and she’s so adorable that I chuckle.

“Despite what you may think, I don’t mind women being taller than me. My ten-year-old nephew is almost taller than me.”

“Maybe I didn’t feel like wearing heels, smart guy,” she says, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward.

“Then you would be the exception to the rule. It seems seventy-five percent of the female population lives in heels.”

Taking a sip of her water, she glares at me over the glass and then lets out a small giggle. “Okay, I worried over the height thing.” Her smooth brows arch. “It really doesn’t bother you?”

“Maybe once upon a time, but not any longer. I’ve learned to accept a lot of things over the years.” A glance at my watch tells me it’s time to finish up our meal.

“Please make yourself at home while I grill the steaks.”

She hops up. “Oh, I can help.”

Watching Alice move around my kitchen is both humorous and does odd things to me. I’d want her to be more comfortable, and it’s not something I’ve given much thought to, but I know others have done it.

“If I get married, I will get the kitchen remodeled,” I say suddenly.

“Oh?” she says, looking over from her semi-hunched position, dicing the chicken at the low counter.

“To make it fully accessible for everyone.”

“That’s really nice.” She turns back to the chicken and a minute later asks, “Do you want marriage and children?”

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “I hope to find someone to put up with me. I want what others want, a family.” I pause and forge ahead. “And yes, I can still have sex and father children.”

Bright pink stains Alice’s cheeks when she peeks over at me. “I wasn’t asking or hinting about that.”

I grin and flip the grilled steaks onto a platter. “Most people are curious and don’t feel or even realize how intrusive those questions are.”

Shrugging, I put a towel over my lap before placing the platter there and head over to the dining room while Alice brings the salad and chopped chicken.

“People seem to think the wheelchair means my life should be an open book and they can ask anything they want.”

“Well, that’s not me,” she says stiffly, putting the plates at the two settings I already have in place.

“I know. You’re different.” I put the platter with steak in the middle between us and roll up to my place at the table. “Alice, if you want to know something about me, ask.”

Reaching for her hand, another piece of the wall I’ve built around myself comes tumbling down when she takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “And I’ll do the same.”