Page 35 of Ricardo

“I already had a headache. This will just amplify it.”

I will have to find something for that.

I look around the coffee station for a moment. Broken glass lies across the floor near the cabinet, clear shards scattered against pale stone. A glass carafe, probably, or what remains of one. Coffee spreads in a dark puddle beneath it, creeping toward the edge of the rug.

Julia begins to move. “I need to clean that before it stains.”

I put one hand out. “Stay where you are.”

“I’m fine.”

“Just sit.”

Her mouth tightens. “I don’t need—”

“Julia.”

For a second, I think she will argue, then her shoulders drop.

“Fine,” she concedes.

I go to the small refrigerator beneath the counter, take out a bottle of water and a tray of ice, then find a clean towel in the cabinet. Mario keeps everything stocked like a hotel. For once, I appreciate how anal he is.

I wrap the ice in the towel and return to Julia.

“Here.”

She reaches for it. I give it to her, and this time our fingers touch. Her hand is cold. The contact lasts one second, maybe less, but I definitely notice it.

She presses the towel to the back of her head and winces.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You are welcome.”

Then I take off my jacket and drape it over the back of a chair.

Julia watches me. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“I can call maintenance.”

“At this hour?”

She hesitates. “I guess not.” She sags back to the floor, leaning back against the cabinet. “What would I tell them anyway? I fought with an espresso machine and lost?”

A laugh escapes me.

“The evidence certainly isn't in your favor.”

Her eyes narrow again, but this time, there is something like humor behind the look. “The machine started it.”

“Of course.”