I had just ridden on the back of a dragon across the ocean. I was in Iceland. I was safe. I was warm. I was not about to spiral because a very considerate man had kind of touched me and then chosen not to.
Absolutely not.
Fartie Artie was getting a bit ahead of herself.
I took a slow breath and focused on the crackle of the fire, the softness of the blanket, and the sound of Arthur moving around the kitchen behind me.
Nothing was happening.
Which somehow made it feel likeeverything was.
I moved over to the couch to watch him. Arthur set a small pot on the woodstove and produced tea leaves, two mugs, a tin of soup, and bread wrapped in cloth from the cupboard. Nothing fancy. Nothing excessive.
“You’re suspiciously prepared,” I said. “This feels like a trap. Or a personality flaw.”
He paused with the kettle in his hand. “I can put it away.”
“No,” I said quickly. “Please don't put away the soup. I’m merely making an observation.”
That earned me a small smile.
“I plan ahead,” he said. “People depend on me. And I depend on Caliban.”
I grinned.
He poured water into the mugs. Steam rose, and a faintly herbal scent filled the room. When the soup was done, he brought me a bowl. I spooned some into my mouth and immediately burned my tongue. Hissing, I dropped the spoon in the bowl.
“I’m fine,” I said automatically. “It’s just a little burn. Temporary.”
Arthur was already moving. He crossed the space between us in two strides and crouched in front of me, concern written plainly across his face.
“You burned your tongue,” he said.
“It’s nothing,” I insisted. “I’ve survived worse.”
“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward my mouth like this was a normal question to ask a person.
We locked eyes.
Something settled in my chest that felt dangerous and quiet and permanent.
I blinked. “You want to… inspect my tongue?”
He paused.
Really paused.
Then he leaned back slightly, the concern on his face shifting into something sheepish and self-aware, like the part of him that realized he might have overcorrected had finally caught up.
“Now that you say that,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m realizing how silly that sounds.”
I huffed out a quiet laugh before I could stop myself.
“Yes,” I said. “A little.”
He nodded, completely unoffended. “My apologies. I tend to default to… fixing.”
“That tracks,” I said dryly. “You built a fire in record time and summoned a man in a coat out of thin air.”
