Wincing, he propped himself up higher in bed, so that he could look at the two of us better. “London,” he murmured. “How would we get there?”

“Shayla would transport us with her magic.”

He shrugged loosely. “For how long?”

“We don’t know,” Shayla replied. “The plan would be to check into a hotel and just… see how things go. How you react to your initial surroundings. Whether there’s any spark.”

“All right,” he said, wincing again as though experiencing a shot of pain. “When do we leave?”

“Today,” Shayla replied. “At least, that was my plan before we found you like this.”

He shook his head. “No, I-I’ll be okay. Hopefully this is just an off day and I’ll be feeling better tomorrow. We should leave today, just as you planned.”

Shayla examined his face a moment longer, gauging his response. Then she sighed. “Okay.” She reached for the phone to call Tom to assist Josh in getting ready, but before she could place her hand on the phone, Josh reached out and caught her arm.

“Wait,” he said. “I want to get ready myself this morning. Grace can wait outside the bathroom. I can always tell her if something goes pear-shaped.”

Pear-shaped. I’d never heard that expression before. But I guessed well enough what he meant.

I felt nervous about Shayla agreeing to this after his last attempt at doing something himself in the bathroom. She also looked reluctant. However, she agreed.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said. “I have some of my own preparations to do. I’ll be back once I’m ready.”

She left the room.

I couldn’t help but wonder why today of all days Josh was insisting on this particularly. I knew that he never liked getting assistance for taking a bath, but he had put up with it until now. Why today of all days when he was feeling particularly down?

He slowly inched toward the edge of his bed and reached for the back of his wheelchair. I watched anxiously as he grabbed the chair’s arms. He pushed himself off the bed and slid into it. He winced as his hip banged against the side, but he shook it off and began wheeling himself to the bathroom.

I followed him to the door, which, thankfully, he kept open for the time being as he approached the sink. His toothbrush and toothpaste had been set within reaching distance, so it wasn’t difficult for him to manage brushing his teeth alone. But what I was most worried about was how he would manage in the bathtub. When he finished cleaning his teeth and moved to close the door on me, I was so tempted to ask him if he was sure about this… but I didn’t. Instead I just remained waiting tensely outside, my ear against the door, listening. I heard the squeaking of his wheels against the shiny floor, and then the running of water.

I waited for the sounds of him gripping the side of the bathtub and hauling himself in… but they didn’t come. When there was still silence after a couple more minutes had passed, I dared call, “You okay?”

“Yep,” he replied, a little tensely.

“Okay,” I said. “Was just wondering what the holdup was…”

“I, uh…” He swore beneath his breath. “I’m just thinking that I probably should take some help now, actually. Getting into the tub… I’m wearing boxers, obviously,” he added quickly.

“Oh. Of course.” I’d thought he had been hinting for me to call for Tom, not that he was requesting my help. “So can I come in now then?”

“Yeah,” he muttered.

Grabbing the handle, I pushed open the door to find that he’d wheeled himself to the edge of the tub. He twisted in his chair to face me, looking almost ashamed. My eyes fell from his face to the rest of his pale, bare body. I was impressed that he’d managed to get his pants off by himself, as well as his nightshirt. Now he sat, wearing a pair of black boxer shorts. I couldn’t help but notice his physique. Even the short time that he’d been using those weights had made a difference. His chest, torso and arm muscles were significantly more pronounced—not exactly toned, but no longer shadows.

This was also the first time that I was seeing his legs uncovered. They were long and lanky, but I’d expected them to look more slack than they did. Rather, the muscles in his thighs and calves resembled the muscles in his chest and arms before he had started working out—once sculpted, since faded, but still distinguishable. If he could only move his legs, I guessed it would not take long for him to get those back in shape either.

When he cleared his throat, his eyes still fixed on my face, I realized that I had stopped to ogle him a little too long. My cheeks warmed. “Sorry,” I said, raising my gaze.

I had never helped a man of his size into a tub before. I wasn’t exactly short, but I guessed that he was at least six foot in height, if he’d been able to stand. I was strong, though. And he was slim. Rolling up the sleeves of my cardigan, I moved forward and lowered to him until my cheek was almost touching his.

“You can put your arms around me,” I said.

He raised his arms and placed them around my neck, while I wound mine around his waist. Slowly but surely, I eased him out of the chair and sat him on the edge of the tub. While he was perched there, I removed a hand from his midriff and trailed my fingers in the water to make sure that it was the right temperature. It felt pleasantly warm.

Now I had to be careful, as I lowered him the rest of the way into the tub, to make sure that I didn’t lose my balance and fall on top of him. That would be so awkward…