They’re just there now, suspended between us like a confession I never intended to make.
Finn says nothing.
He just watches me with that unbearable intensity that steals the air from my lungs.
Ragnar is asleep now, his breathing slow and steady.
The clinic is silent.
The world seems to narrow down to the space between Finn and me.
Finn shifts closer almost imperceptibly.
So do I.
I can see the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. The nearly invisible scar near his temple. The different shades hidden in his gray irises.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
Mine does the same.
The air turns thick.
Hot.
Hard to breathe.
He leans toward me.
I lean toward him.
Our lips are seconds from touching when?—
Ragnar suddenly jumps to his feet.
The sheep charges directly between us, head lowered, physically separating us.
I stumble backward into the exam table while Finn grabs Ragnar, who immediately tries to limp toward the door despite the bandage.
“Ragnar, no!”
The sheep bleats indignantly.
Finn wrestles him back toward the blanket, but the moment is gone.
Destroyed.
Obliterated by a stubborn sheep who apparently has very strong opinions about our love lives.
“You can’t walk on it!” I exclaim, scrambling upright. “You’re going to reopen the wound!”
Ragnar stares at me with what looks suspiciously like disapproval before collapsing dramatically onto his blanket with a dissatisfied bleat.
Finn slowly stands.
Runs a hand through his hair.
Avoids my gaze.
