I drink in every detail like a man who’s been dying of thirst. The delicate curve of her neck as she tilts her head, considering the arrangement with a small furrow between her brows. The way her fingers move among the stems with practiced grace, coaxing the roses into place with touches so gentle I can almost feel them on my own skin. She hums softly to herself, a melody I don’t recognize, and the sound fills my chest.
This is what I never thought I’d have again. Mina in my home, humming like she’s content to be here.
Down the hall, Leon is sleeping. My son. In my house. Our son, healing and safe under the same roof where I’m healing. We’re all together after so many years of being fractured and scattered and wrong.
I don’t deserve this, but here it is anyway, this perfect morning, and this woman who should shrink from me but is making my room beautiful instead. We’ve always been happiest together among flowers.
“Mina.”
My voice comes out rough, still thick with sleep, and she turns toward me with a startled movement. Her eyes find mine, and I see emotions flicker across her face. Worry, tenderness, and something softer that makes my heart pound against my ribs.
I reach for her hand.
She evades my fingers at first, moving to briskly tidy my bedclothes with nurse-like efficiency. But I catch her wrist before she can retreat completely, my fingers circling the delicate bones, feeling her pulse flutter against my thumb like a trapped bird trying to escape.
“Cristiano. You’re awake.”
“I’ve been awake.” I run my thumb across the delicate skin of her inner wrist, feeling the rapid beat of her heart. “Watching you.”
A flush creeps up her neck, staining her cheeks pink, and I watch it spread with fascination.
“I liked watching you.” My thumb traces small circles on her wrist. “You hum when you think no one’s listening.”
The flush deepens, spreading down to disappear beneath the collar of her sweater, and I wonder how far down it goes. Shepulls away again and I let her, but slowly savoring the slide of her skin against mine.
“How are you feeling?” She slips into caretaker mode. “Any pain? Nausea?”
“I want to see Leon.”
That stops her. Her eyes search my face. “It’s early. He’s still sleeping.”
“I still want to see him.” I’m supposed to be taking daily walks to prevent blood clots and keep my strength up, and I want to do them with Mina. I shift to sit up, moving too quickly in my eagerness, and immediately regret it. Pain lances through my side, sharp enough to steal my breath and make spots dance across my vision.
“Don’t.” Mina’s hand flies to my shoulder, pressing me back with surprising strength for someone so small. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“I’m fine.” The words come out strained. “I want to see my son.”
Her expression softens. She understands wanting to be near your child and see him breathing and whole and safe.
She positions herself at my side, sliding an arm behind my back with careful precision. I’ve been getting in and out of bed alone ever since I was discharged from the hospital, but I wrap my arm around her shoulders anyway, leaning into her warmth more than I need to, feeling the soft curves of her body press against mine as I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
The contact sends heat flooding through me. Her breast pressed against my ribs. Her hip against my side. The smell of her hair, floral and sweet, making me want to bury my face in it.
“Are you okay?” she asks once I’ve gotten to my feet, and I can hear genuine concern in her voice.
Having her this close, feeling her curves against me, breathing in her scent, it’s doing things to me that are entirelyinappropriate for a man who just had major surgery three weeks ago. My body doesn’t seem to care about appropriate timing.
I turn my head, and whisper into her hair, letting my lips brush against the silky strands, “Perfect.”
I feel her shiver.
We move slowly down the hallway, and I let myself lean on her more than I need to, savoring every point of contact between us. Every few steps she pauses, checking my face for signs of distress, her eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my chest tight.
“I’m fine,” I tell her each time. “Keep going.”
But I’m not thinking about the pain in my side or the weakness in my legs. I’m thinking about how perfectly she fits against me, how right it feels to have her supporting me like this, how much I want to stop in the middle of this hallway and kiss her until neither of us can breathe.
Leon’s door is half open. Mina eases it wider with her free hand, and we step inside together, still pressed against each other, still moving as one unit.
