Where Love Grows by Heidi Chiavaroli

Author:Heidi Chiavaroli [Chiavaroli, Heidi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hope Creek Publishers LLC

22

I scrolled through my laptop, my gaze blurry from lack of sleep. I’d lain in my bed for hours after sketching out a crude drawing for my indoor landscape idea for the store. I’d found a great company that specialized in lifelike artificial trees, and I planned to talk to a representative tomorrow morning. My insides hummed to life at the thought of creating natural beauty within Asher’s store.

They also hummed thinking of my time with Asher in the store. His strength while lowering me from that wall, his fingers moving nimbly at my waist to untie my rope, his thumb on my cheek.

He’d been about to kiss me. Why hadn’t he?

I thought of the blonde on the back of the jet ski picture on his desk. Toned, tanned arms, a generous chest pressed against his back, perfect white teeth to go with that confident smile.

No doubt, I simply didn’t measure up. Like his wheelchair could never measure up to legs used to conquer mountains and ski daring slopes, I would never measure up to someone like his old girlfriend.

You were beautiful.

He spoke of my music, of course, but the words had made my heart lift like a crescendo on the page of one of my music books. They didn’t let me sleep, until finally, I’d propped my laptop on my desk and did a search on everything paraplegic.

I started with possible cures for spinal cord injuries, then went down a myriad of stray rabbit holes until I landed on a paraplegic man’s YouTube channel. I watched video after video. His story of being paralyzed in a motorcycle accident. How he got in and out of his wheelchair, how he drove, how he swam, the accommodations in his home. I watched him propose to his girlfriend. And then more. He explained the way he traveled, went to the bathroom, got dressed, had sex, even how he and his wife had a child with the help of IVF.

By the time I was finished, I was completely encouraged, not only for myself, but for Asher. I had to admit, before I’d met him, I only pitied those with severe spinal cord injuries. It seemed they missed out on so much. In many ways, I thought they were half living. But as I read and watched and learned, I realized I’d been dead wrong.

Living wasn’t defined by walking. Many who’d been handicapped insisted they’d become better people after their injuries.

I thought of Asher. No doubt he would have never given me a second glance while he was posing for pictures for Sports Illustrated. No doubt he had changed. Was it for the better? What would he say about it all? The man who insisted he’d erupt into flames if he came to church.

I sighed and closed my laptop, rolling over to click off my lamp and slide beneath the covers.

I needed to pull on the reins of whatever this was between me and Asher. And yet, how could he ever see the beauty

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