“You’re good at this,” she murmured.
“These surgeon’s hands are multi-talented.”
When we got out, I wrapped her in a bath sheet, taking every opportunity to drop kisses on her skin. I lounged on the bed while she worked three assorted products through her curls before covering them with a silk bonnet. She let me slather her body in shea butter before pulling on a long t-shirt and leggings, then she tossed a bottle of lotion at me and went to retrieve the clothes I’d worn the night before from the dryer so I could get dressed.
After breakfast, Harper checked her email once, made a face, and set her phone on the charger on the counter. “Rowan sent me four messages. I’m ignoring all of them.”
“What’d she say?”
“They. Rowan is non-binary. The first text was that they hoped I was feeling okay. Then the messages got progressively nosier. I almost never take time off, so this is odd behavior for me. The last message is a gif of Kermit the Frog drinking tea.”
I laughed. “They know you well.”
“Too well.”
We left the dishes in the sink and migrated to the living room. Harper turned on a movie, then pulled out her laptop.
“I need to get this stuff to Vincent,” she said, settling cross-legged on the couch. “Shouldn’t take long.”
I watched her work out of the corner of my eye, amused at the way she bit the inside of her cheek when she was reading something closely, how she’d pull up a document, scan it, mark it off on her little makeshift checklist and move on to the next document.
Organized. Methodical. Thorough. I was lucky to have her.
“You need help?” I asked at one point.
“No, I’ve got it. This is just tedious, and easier if I do it myself.”
I pulled out my phone and tried to distract myself. Scrolled through news articles. Checked my email—three messages from the hospital I didn’t open. Talia had texted, asking if I was alive. She’d called the other night but I’d been with Harper. I sent back a thumbs up and a promise to call her later.
Then I made the mistake of googlingmedical malpractice lawsuit. Big mistake. I locked my phone and set it face-down on the coffee table.
“I’m sorry. Are you bored?” Harper asked without looking up.
“Nah. I’m good. Just need to stay off the internet.”
“You’re not googling shit about lawsuits, are you?”
“…no.”
“Cole.” She finally looked at me. “Stop. You’re going to spiral.”
“I’m not spiraling.”
“Seems like you’re spiraling,” she said in a sing-song voice. She closed her laptop and shifted to face me. “What’d you read?”
“Nothing. Just a lot of doctors get screwed even when they didn’t do anything wrong.”
“True. But you have a good attorney. And you have me, and I’m—what did you call me? A dog with a bone about this shit?”
She reached for my hand. “We’re ahead of this. Most people aren’t.”
I squeezed her hand. “I know. Thanks.”
She studied my face for another moment, then nodded and went back to her laptop. Twenty minutes later, she sent the final email and slammed the lid shut.
“Done. Vincent Cross now has everything he could need to defend you. More than he needs, but I didn’t want to take chances.” She stretched, arching her back. “Now I’m starving again. You hungry?”
“I’m a six foot two Black man. I can always eat. What do you feel like?”
