Christmas Therapy

Allen nodded.

“The last time we saw each other…. I was rude.”

“I understood.”

“No, I was rude. I’m truly sorry.”

“Is that why you asked for another therapist?”

Heather’s chin dipped low. “I’m sorry about that too. Apparently, you’re the only one available.” She faced him once more.

“I can help you. The question is, will you let me?” he said.

His voice lowered then, making the hairs on the nape of her neck rise.

“Ms. Heather! Look! Look!” a child’s voice interrupted.

Heather diverted her gaze to Emily, one of the six-year-old twin daughters of Abigail Campbell. “You did it!”

Emily held up her snowflake Heather had taught her to make. The pig-tailed girl with rosy cheeks then turned to Allen. “You like it?”

Allen squinted his eyes and inspected Emily’s artwork. “I think… it’s perfect.”

“Are you Ms. Heather’s friend?” Emily asked.

Allen looked over at Heather. “It depends on her.”

“Be his friend Ms. Heather,” Emily said. “He’s nice. He likes my snowflake.”

The moment was sweet. Heather's lips parted to answer just as Allen whispered something in the little girl’s ear. Emily giggled and skipped away to her mother.

Heather folded her arms across her chest. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her I would be your friend if you let me.”

She squinted her eyes at him. “Why do I think there’s more to this?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Allen?” Her mother called out. “We need you over here.”

Allen waved to Heather’s mother as he stood from his seat. “I’ll see you for our next session.”

Heather had no response. She needed to go home. Stealing furtive gazes at the handsome physical therapist across the room was only a distraction. Did he stare back a few times as he worked on the hot cocoa stand?

A few more townspeople came and helped with the decorating. Even Abigail brought sandwiches for the parents and children to eat. Heather avoided Allen for the next hour but noticed him sitting with a few of the fathers at a nearby table. His smile was captivating, but she dropped eye contact. She’d seen smiles on handsome men before. This Allen guy was no different.

When her mother called it a night for the volunteers around 8:30 PM, she was more than ready to go. If she had been able to run, she’d have dashed out the door. Instead, Heather carefully moved her braced knee to the floor, then grabbed her coat and reached for her crutches.

“Heather, wait,” her mother said, with a warning in her tone.

Heather could grab her crutch. She wasn’t helpless, but when her crutch plopped on the linoleum floor, she gritted her teeth.

“I got it,” Allen said.

Heather steadied herself on one foot and took the crutch from him to keep her balance. “Thank you.”

Allen’s eyes grew firm, with intense contact. “You’re welcome.”