“It doesn’t count,” Ryan grumbles from his wheelchair in the back of the van but Dante ignores him. “It wasn’t really walking—”
“It was close enough,” Dante says, leaning forward to hang over the driver’s seat. Mrs. Talonovich laughs when he rolls his eyes at Ryan’s halfhearted protest. “It was being out of that chair. It was holding yourself up on the bars—”
“You helped me,” Ryan points out.
“Not much,” Dante counters. He sees Mrs. Talonovich’s smile and shakes his head, bemused. “All I did was spot him, honest.” With a grin, he turns and points at Ryan. “There you are.”
Ryan slaps his hand away. “It wasn’t walking,” he mutters.
Dante studies him for a long moment, until he’s sure he sees the hint of a smile trying to break through the scowl clouding Ryan’s face. Then he falls back t
