Mike in love with me by Christmas, what nonsense. He would say anything to get out of going to the gym, like a twelve-year-old. More articulately, granted...
What would it feel like, to have someone like Mike in love with me? She nearly stomped her foot, as if it could squish the unbidden thought. They couldn't manage a grocery list without a battle of wills, let alone a relationship. But what would it feel like?
Daya had never taken the elevator in VITAL before, but she didn't have the heart to march her heartthrob down the ramp while he was still on crutches. So, she covered up her discomfort with a grin while waiting on the slowest elevator in the world. The sign on its doors enticed: Climb the ramp up, lower your blood pressure!
It moved at the thoughtful pace too, so Daya burst out ready for action. She might have pressed the button that kept the doors opened for Mike to limp out with a bit too much vigor. Thank you, Daya! sounded suspiciously enthusiastic.
But they were not there yet, oh no! A tall black woman turned around at the sound of Mike's voice, abandoned her previous direction and advanced on them.
The women wore a gym outfit that exploited the potency of neon to the max. There was a song that went with a shirt this pink/orange/lime. Daya could not quite put her finger on it, but she tried her best.
'Focus on Me' by Grande? The indomitable frizzle of hair ready to spring into an Afro nimbus went with that song too.
The wearer's enthusiasm at the sight of Mike matched the explosion of colors and hair. "Michael, look at you going to the gym, and still on crutches! You are my hero."
"He is serious about his rehab," Daya said diplomatically, itching to mention how hard it was to part him with his couch. She contemplated hiring a bulldozer out of Fort Mac. If it could move tons of rock, it could move Mike.
The vibrant lady beamed at her. "And you must be Daya. I wonder how you managed this miracle of motivation. My husband would not lift his butt from the TV if he has a hangnail."
"Good afternoon, Carol," Mike put in hastily. His shoulders looked stiffer to her than the immobilized leg. "You're correct: this my life coach, Daya. Daya, this is my supervisor, Carol."
He said it all in one breath as if mimicking his boss, but where Carol's words run into one another because she was buoyant, Mike sounded listless.
Come on, Mike, look at all the people here, listen to the beat. This is a happy place, a source of pulsating energy.
"I want a recipe for that green smoothie, too. Michael glows from it," Carol said. A faint accent lurked in the back lanes of Carol's voice, making Daya think she'd be called my dear at some point. She appreciated when she wasn't, otherwise it would be too much like her mom.
"I don't think you have anything to worry about in this department," Daya said. "You have an amazing complexion, Carol."
Carol patted her plump cheeks—her black skin was so wonderfully smooth that she could moonlight by advertising cosmetics. "It is, it is, but it never hurts to give our Lord a bit of help, eh?"
Small talk was great, Carol was great, but she wanted to get on with it. She grew tired of watching the lumpy martyr out of the corner of her eye. Mike couldn't bolt away from her on his bum leg, but she would not put it past him to plop to the ground and refuse to go any further.
"I'll print the recipe for you," Daya promised.
Mike's expressive face grew more pained by the minute. Gosh, this slightly aquiline nose looks good when he is moody... She shouldn't derive pleasure from his discomfort, but by whatever reason—
YOU ARE READING
Winners Don't Have Bad Days (Watty 2020 Winner, Romance)
ChickLitWhen a total stranger knows what eats you, maybe they are your one true love. Even if you don't know it yet. || On Friday the 13th, two twenty-something, Daya and Mike, end up in a mutually beneficial arrangement: she is his caregiver after he break...
