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“Says the woman who tried a face plant a few seconds ago.”
“You’re overreacting,” she said. “I’m just tired.”
“It was a restless night.”
Feeling another surge of heat flame into her cheeks, she was grateful the cool rag covered her eyes. “Shut up.”
“You should have let them transport you yesterday.”
“For a black eye?” She gave a snort. “I’d never live that down.”
“For a concussion.”
Feeling stronger she tried to sit up, but he pinned her with his hand to her shoulder. “Give yourself a few minutes.”
“Come on.”
“Then give me a few minutes.” He removed the rag and replaced it with a fresh one. “You scared the life out of me.”
“Call off that ambulance.”
“But—”
“A lack of sleep is no more an emergency than the black eye.”
“Never finished dialing, dear,” Maria said from somewhere nearby. “Take all the time you need. I’ll handle the kitchen.”
“Put out the closed sign,” Bart ordered.
“Not on my account,” Hannah grumbled.
“Like it matters what I say. Maria obviously thinks she’s in charge.”
“Lucky you.”
“Yeah.” He cradled her hand in one of his palms and with his other hand he made long slow strokes from her wrist to her elbow. “I might offer her Tim’s job.”
“Could work.” His touch soothed and excited her simultaneously. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but she knew beyond any doubt she could get used to it.
She peered out from under the cool rag and just enjoyed watching him think through the various troubles on his mind. It bothered her to add to the list. “Let me up,” she rasped. She repeated it more firmly and he supported her as she slowly changed position.
“Better?”
“Yes. Thanks.”
“Concussion or hunger?”
“Neither.” She concentrated on folding the damp rag into a precise square.
“Has to be one or the other.”
“Does it really?” She tossed the rag over to the table. “Why can’t it just be stress or simple fatigue?”
He held his hands up in surrender. “Okay. We’ll go with your answer. It’s stress.” Leaning close, he added, “Want an outlet?”
Yes. But she couldn’t say it. Once—well,twice—was enough. At this rate her cheeks would just stay a permanent shade of fire-engine red.
“You’re cute when you blush.” He ran his fingers over her hair. “That’s not what I meant, though I wouldn’t argue if you wanted an encore.”
