Leap of Faith by Fiona McCallum

onto them. Steve waited and picked up the cushion she’d had her cast resting on, and her almost empty water bottle. Over at the table he dragged the chair out from the end and laid the pillow on it.
    â€˜Come on, you need to keep that leg elevated,’ he said, patting the pillow.
    Jessica felt strangely childlike as Steve placed the refilled bottle of water, a chopping board and knife, two bowls – one with potatoes in it and the other water – a peeler, a bottle of hand sanitiser and a roll of paper towel in front of her. She half expected him to wash her hands and clean her face for her and then put a tissue to her nose and tell her to blow. She almost laughed out loud at the thought, but stifled it. She was very lucky he was being so good – plenty of husbands might not have been.
    She enjoyed watching Steve expertly making his way around the kitchen. Not that it was a rare sight – he often cooked. The shepherd’s pie, complete with copious amounts of grated cheese on top, was soon in the oven and now Steve leaned against the bench enjoying a long sip of wine and taking a break before tackling the garlic bread while Jessica set the table – well, if that’s what you could call sliding a knife, fork and spoon on a napkin across the table in the general direction of three places.
    Jessica had rejected his offer of a glass of the red wine he’d opened. Tiffany was right, it wasn’t wise to mix alcohol with the pain medication, confirmed by the label on the box. She didn’t think her stomach would cope with the acidity anyway; she was already feeling the churning that might lead to diarrhoea. It was hard enough getting to the loo to pee without the added inconvenience of the urgency of that side of things as well. No, she’d be careful to eat plenty and keep her stomach lined. Too bad if she put on a few kilos; she’d soon lose them when she got back in the saddle.
    Jessica had always been lean, but well covered. Her long legs looked good in jodhpurs and distracted from the bit of a pot belly that had always been her nemesis, but which she’d learnt to live with thanks to Steve’s regular assurances that he loved her just the way she was. It had become an on-going joke between them since they’d watched Bridget Jones’s Diary together. Steve had never meant to make her laugh the first time he said it, and was confused when she did. She’d had to explain the Bridget Jones reference, but he didn’t fully get it until she made him watch the movie soon after. Now whenever he said the words, he did a fine Colin Firth impression. While it was a joke between them, Jessica had no doubts that Steve meant every word of what he said. That was another of the things she loved about him – he was real.
    â€˜What?’ Steve said, catching her smiling over at him.
    â€˜Nothing, just thinking how cute you look in that pinny and how sexy your command of the kitchen is.’ He’d grabbed the first apron in the top of the drawer, which happened to be a frilly, flowery one Jessica had been given by her mother as a gift at her bridal shower. He grabbed the bottom of his apron and held it between his thumbs and forefingers, and curtsied. Jessica chuckled and was looking around for something safe to throw at him when there was a friendly double toot of a car horn and headlights flashed across the window.
    â€˜Here, you can do the garlic bread for being so cheeky,’ Steve said, bringing over everything she’d need. He kissed her on the top of her head before continuing to the door, wiping his hands on his apron.
    Jessica paused in her chopping of garlic and grinned, hearing Tiffany tease Steve about his apron. She pictured him doing another curtsy. She turned to see Tiffany slap playfully at his arm as she let out a hearty laugh.
    â€˜Very good,’ Tiffany said. ‘And what’s this – dogs in the house? Steve, you’re turning