“But they trip you, anyway.”
Her lips curl at the edges like I’ve said something funny. “Not this past week, they don’t.”
Traffic builds as we reach the city centre, and I wind through the congestion, choosing a carpark building just a few doors down from the optometrist’s office. Back at street level, I hold Ophelia’s hand on my upper arm, warning her about approaching obstacles.
It’s fulfilling, being both her biggest threat and her protector.
We arrive at the optometrist appointment early, and I pace the waiting room, clicking my fingers until she’s called into the examination room. Then I throw myself into a seat, doomscrolling, then watching as the receptionist packs her bag and shuts down her computer, giving me a vague smile as she leaves.
“Damien?”
Rothschild stands in the doorway, gesturing me inside. I take the seat next to Ophelia’s, instantly reaching for her hand.
“I was just explaining to Miss Boehm the options available. Tinted lenses for the photophobia, image stabilisation, which should reduce the blur from nystagmus.”
My eyes stay fixed on Ophelia’s face while he expands on the assistive technology, zooming, magnifying, text-to-speech for signs and labels. Her eyes widen, lips parting slightly.
“That sounds—” Her voice cracks, and she swallows, shaking her head. “That sounds amazing.”
“It’s been life changing for many of my clients.” Rothschild’s warmth appears genuine, and I have a flicker of irritation at how easily he makes her smile. “The process requires several fittings and—”
“How long?” I interrupt.
They both turn my way, Rothschild saying, “I’m sorry?”
“What’s the timeline before they’re ready?”
“Ah.” He glances at his computer, clicking through several screens. “Given the complexity, I’d allow four to six weeks for—”
“That’s too long. How much for a rush job? Say, tomorrow?”
“No, that’s impossible. The calibration alone will—”
“Friday, then.”
Ophelia shifts in her seat and Rothschild’s frown deepens. “If I accelerate the order with our manufacturer, we could have it done Friday, but you’re looking at two to three times the price for that expediency. And I can’t guarantee the quality will—”
“Price doesn’t matter.” I squeeze her hand harder. “I want my girl to be able to see me, doc.”
“Then, I’ll grab a few more measurements and submit the specifications tonight. You’ll need to pay the entire bill in advance.”
I flash my card. “No problem.”
Forty minutes later, we leave the office with another appointment for Friday afternoon. The moment we’re out of earshot, Ophelia mutters, “I don’t understand you.”
“You don’t need to.” I put my arm around her shoulder. “Just accept that from now on, I’ll provide everything you need.”
I drive her home, stopping a few houses short of her address. When she doesn’t immediately get out, I say, “We’re here.”
“I know.”
Her fingers lie on the doorhandle for a second, then she reverses course and climbs across the centre console until she’s straddling my lap, facing me.
My hands automatically steady her hips, holding her in place. “What’re you doing?”
The question comes out rougher than I intend, and my body responds to her weight, the pressure of her thighs bracketingmine. But she doesn’t reach for my belt buckle or lean in for a kiss—the moves I expect.
Instead, her hands hover a few millimetres from my face.
