Sheis captivating.
As if she knows exactly how wayward my mind just went, Aspen pulls back her shoulders and locks me in a glare.
Oh, yeah, she’s hiding horns under that halo.
“That’s not . . .” She scoffs.
When I return her pointed glare, she folds her hands in her lap, professional mask falling back into place. “You need help while you recover; that’s just facts. You were offered a home health nurse I assume?”
“Yes.”
“Let me guess . . . you declined?”
I stare back at her, jaw clenched.
Her hands fly up in frustration.“Stubborn, impossible man.”
In her own way, she might be scarier than Becky.
“You’re going to let me help.”
She leaves no room for argument . . . which would work for most people. But I’m not most people.
“We’ll see,” I grumble.
“I’m going to pretend that was athank you.” She stands from her spot on the coffee table.
“Stubborn and grumpy might be your factory settings, but if you cross over into asshole territory, I’ll dump you on Becky’s doorstep.”
I wet my lips, fighting a grin. “No, you won’t.”
She sucks on her cheek, losing the battle of trying to hold back her grin. “Cocky, too.”
“You like having me here. You admitted it.”
She tilts her head side to side a few times before her posture softens a touch. “For now.”
“For now,” I repeat, because the reminder feels necessary—for both of us.
Message delivered, she moves to the opposite end of the couch.
I turn toward her, not sure where to go from here.
“I won’t let you get hurt on my watch or my property. When you need help, you’ll ask. If you don’t, you’ll leave me no choice but to insert myself as I see fit.”
Assertive Aspen is a wrecking ball, busting down all the walls I've spent years fortifying. Fresh from the hospital and she's already telling how it's going to be. Normally that would send me running . . . somehow coming from her it feels likes suffocating, not that I plan to admit that.
“I can take care of myself,” I remind her.
“I have no doubt you’ll try.”
And she callsmestubborn. Pot, meet kettle. I let out a rough exhale, ready for a fight.
“But maybe, just this once, you don’t have to.”
I need a break from talking about me. And she’s settled in like she’s not going anywhere anytime soon, so I ask, “What’s with the empty loft?”
“My brother, Drake, lived here while he built his hermit hole in the woods—you two would be fast friends. He’s just as?—”
