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“You were staring.”

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.’”