I had no idea what Malcolm liked. He never really ordered dessert at the diner. Not that I could blame him. Everything in that dessert case was old and stale even when we first got it delivered.
I figured, though, that you really couldn't go wrong with cookies. Who didn't like soft, gooey chocolate chip cookies?
"You're up early," Shep said a while later, rolling into the kitchen behind me, already showered. I bit my tongue to keep from scolding him about not waiting for me to help wrap up his leg, and make sure he had everything he needed before he got in the shower. He wasn't a child, and he resented when I treated him like one. He'd been trying to tackle more things for himself since I'd gotten hurt. And it was too sweet a gesture to chastise him about even if I was worried he might hurt himself further by doing too much too fast.
"You too," I said, leaning in the oven to pull out the hash browns so I could slip the cookies in.
"And you're baking," he said, and when I looked over, there was a soft sadness in his eyes. Because he knew how much I enjoyed baking, and how infrequently I'd been able to do any.
"I had the urge," I agreed, for some reason choosing to omit the part about last night, about Malcolm, about wanting to thank him in treats.
I had no idea why I wanted to keep it secret.
Logically, you could say it was because I didn't want Shep to worry any more about me than was absolutely necessary, and that he would definitely worry if he knew I'd not only been attacked at word, but had a creepy guy taking pictures of me all the time without me knowing—and without my coworker doing or saying anything about it.
But I had a feeling that wasn't it.
I had a sneaking suspicion it was more because of my clear—and ever-growing—crush on the handsome biker. And Shep's ability to read me.
I just wanted to be able to bask in my feelings for a bit before I had to squash them, and get back to my reality that did not have a big, kind, bearded biker in it.
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
"I'm fine."
"It's a long day of therapy," I reminded him. The days for his wrist were easy. I dropped him off, and an hour later, he was coming home, no worse for the wear.
But when they were working with him and his back, like he'd be doing today, it was a nearly three-hour ordeal that often left him in pain and grumpy on the way home.
"Stop worrying about me. I'm okay," he said, going over to the coffee machine, setting his locks, then pulling himself up on his one good leg.
It took a lot of self-control not to rush forward and insist on making it for him. But it was good that he was trying. His doctor once pulled me aside and reminded me that the goal was for Shep to be able to do all his tasks for himself again, not to rely on me until the end of time, so I needed to allow him to at least try.
"How are you?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at me.
"I'm alright. The ribs aren't screaming as bad anymore. I might be able to stop binding them in a day or two. And my eye is opening up more and more." I still had a lot of swelling around it, but I could see out of it a fair amount. Enough that I was probably going to stop wearing my eye patch.
"And the concussion symptoms?"
"They're still there," I said, shrugging. "The doctor told me they could last as long as three months, but I think they are slightly better than they were even a couple days ago."
All my cuts and scrapes had become itchy scabs I had to actively remind myself not to scratch constantly throughout the day.
"We're quite a pair," Shep decided, dropping back down into his seat, putting his coffee in the holder that hung from the arm of his chair, then turning to face me.
"Oh, but our comeback is going to be epic," I said, giving him a smile.
"You've got that right," he agreed with a lot more conviction than I was used to with him. It was almost as if my getting hurt had reinforced his desire to get well again too. Maybe because he'd felt so helpless, because he hadn't been able to take care of me, and he wanted to get that ability back.
I didn't love that it took getting attacked for him to find his resolve, but I was pleased with the results. All his doctors had been telling me almost from the beginning that mindset had a lot to do with recovery. I'd been worried sick since then because Shep had seemed so negative about the whole thing. Now, though, this was a step in the right direction.