I moved toward the fridge, sensing his presence in the entryway.
“Want me to warm up your plate for you?”
There was a long pause before he said, “No thanks.”
I frowned, closing the refrigerator door and turning toward him.
At first, nothing seemed off. His shoulders were a little rigid, but that wasn’t unusual for the slightly grumpy fire chief—especially if he’d had to stay late at the station. I tilted my head, my gaze wandering over him.
Was he pale, or was it the lighting?
He turned himself away, as if he knew I was searching for something.
“Did you already eat?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Why were you late?”
I didn’t normally ask so many questions, but something was definitely off.
He ran a quick hand through his hair. “I had trouble focusing. It took longer than usual to finish.”
Before I could pry, he glanced around the empty kitchen.
“Where’s Hailey?”
“She’s in bed.”
His mouth thinned. “How was she today?”
Roman had been worried about his daughter, and it showed in the purple shadows under his eyes and the stubble growing out along his jaw.
“She’s much better,” I answered. “I think she’ll be able to go to school tomorrow.”
“Good.” Relief washed over his face. “That’s good.”
I stepped closer as something occurred to me. A slight sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.
“Roman,” I said, immediately drawing his attention.
His eyes were much darker than usual, the whites veined with red.
“What’s wrong?”
He looked away. “Nothing.”
I stepped closer. Roman tensed.
I kept moving until barely any space separated us. Roman tilted back, but I rose up on my toes and leaned forward.
“Roman,” I repeated slowly. “Are you sick?”
His hands fisted at his sides. “No.”
But there was uncertainty in his tone.
My eyes narrowed as I tentatively reached out and pressed my palm to his forehead. He didn’t pull away, but he went more rigid.
