“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t ever fuck up again, and you don’t go anywhere. If you do, I come after you and haul you home. If someone messes with you, you tell me, and I ruin them.”
“And ifyoumess with me?”
“I don’t.”
“Simple as that?”
“Simple as that.” He grabs a package of gauze and tears it open with his teeth.
“I can get that for you,” I volunteer.
“Already done. Put some of that cream on it, though. And get some tape ready?”
I draw a heart on the gauze with the Bacitracin. When I look up, he’s grinning at me. Kind of like he’s been through the war, but grinning.
I lay the gauze gently on the burn. “I’m totally unbalanced. You get that, right?”
He nods. “Tape?”
I rip off a piece and offer it to him on the tip of my finger.
“Maybe I’ve got issues, too,” he says as he secures the gauze. It’ll do for now, I guess, but if he doesn’t call Dr. Farhadi tomorrow, I will. “There is evidence.” He holds up his bandaged hand.
I impulsively nuzzle his forearm with my cheek, and his eyes light up. He turns to face me, turning me by the hip to face him back.
“One day, you’re going to tell me everything I don’t know about you, Cora or Cara or whoever you are,” he says softly.
“You can’t make me,” I whisper back.
He smiles. “Kiss me, then.”
I lift my chin, but he doesn’t lean down. He waits, mouth curved, brown pupils sparkling. Like he’s happy. Lucky. Lost and found.
I know the feeling. I thought it was gone forever, but maybe it’s just a little further down the road than I thought. Maybe the happy is lessever afterand morein progress.
I rise up on my toes, cup his neck, and pull him down.
When I press my lips to his, I keep my eyes open. So does he.
“Why did you care so much about that bouquet?” I ask.
He doesn’t like that I’ve left off kissing. He wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me against his chest. “I thought it’d make you smile. It didn’t. You never put it in the vase. I thought you threw it away.”
“I loved it. When you gave it to me, I was trying not to cry. You don’t like it when I cry.”
“I suppose I overreacted.”
I snort. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Yeah? How would you put it?”
“You pulled out the rug from under yourself.”
“Like this?” He grins and reaches down to scoop me in his arms.
“Your hand!”
“Don’t squirm, and you won’t bump it.” He carries me out of the kitchen, down the hall, through the foyer, and up the front stairs. He’s breathing hard when he gets to the top, but I’m pretty sure it’s from excitement, not exertion. The man is in peak physical condition.
