I cocked an eyebrow. “I was observing.”
He nodded seriously.
I rolled my eyes, but the heat stayed put, low and persistent.
He stepped back toward the sink, giving me room again like nothing had happened, which somehow made it worse.
I watched him work for another second before realizing I was smiling. I stopped immediately, but not before he saw my reflection in the mirror. He returned my smile, then went back to work.
By mid-afternoon, boredom set in.
Being injured was deeply unglamorous. There was only so much staring you could do at your home before you began to resent the architecture.
I pushed myself up carefully and started toward the bookshelf.
“Zoey,” Liam said from across the room.
I kept going.
“Zoey.”
“I’m getting a book.”
“Don’t lie.”
I made it three steps before he was in front of me, one hand hovering near my elbow without touching.
“Sit,” he said.
“I’m not a labrador.”
“You’re concussed.”
I sighed dramatically and let him guide me back to the couch.
“Which book?” he asked.
“I thought you were a wolf,” I said. “Not a dog.”
He considered that. “I’m very good at fetch.”
That caught me off guard.
“Oh,” I said. “So, you’re leaning into it.”
“I’m the best at fetch.” He radiated confidence.
“Prove it.”
He folded his arms. “Name it.”
I scanned the room. “Third shelf. Blue spine. Slightly pretentious title.”
He turned and pulled it down after barely glancing at the shelf.
I narrowed my eyes. “Okay. That was lucky. Now get me the thin one with the torn dust jacket from the box labeled ‘office but make it sad.’”
He found that, too. Even I hadn’t known where that box was.
