"How do you take it?"
"Just black, thanks."
She poured a second mug and slid it across the counter.
"How's the pain?" she said, after a moment.
"Zero."
She looked at me over the rim.
"Three," I said.
The line of her mouth softened for a second. Not quite the smile she never gave me. Close, though. "I'll do the dressing after we finish these."
"You know," I said, "in the hospital that line had a lot more authority to it."
"The line is exactly as authoritative as it was yesterday." She picked up her mug. "You just look more comfortable ignoring it now that you're out of the gown."
"The gown was not my best showing."
"It wasn't your worst either. You had a very confident attitude about it."
"I maintain a confident attitude about most things."
"Shirt off please. Sit down." She was already pulling out the wound kit.
"We haven't even finished the coffee."
"You can bring it with you. I've got a full shift's worth of patience for your recovery and approximately none for you reopening that suture line because you reached for something on a high shelf."
I pulled off the tee, brought the mug, and sat at the table.
She came around behind me, same hands she'd used at the hospital, same focused quiet, but Memorial Hermann had a monitor beeping and approximately nine things between her and whatever she was actually thinking. Her kitchen had none of that. The difference settled into my jaw before I got ahead of it.
"Healing well," she said.
"Told you."
"You told me zero out of ten pain this morning, so I'm taking your self-assessments with some adjustment."
"I said three."
"Selective memory." She pressed the new dressing edges down, ran her thumb along the tape to seal it, and stepped back. "You look good."
I turned around on the chair. She was right there, close enough that turning put us at about the same distance as last night over the dinner table, and she didn't step back.
"In a clinical sense," she added, and picked up her cup.
"Sure," I said. "That's what I thought you meant."
She walked back to the counter and I watched her go, my eyes dropping immediately to her ass.
My phone buzzed on the table. Brim's name on the screen.
"Give me a minute," I said, and stepped out back. The yard was small, the live oak throwing shade across the grass, May doing its thing.
"What's up, Prez."
