“The marriage.”
She blinked at me. “It’s eight in the morning.”
“Correct.”
“I haven’t had coffee.”
“That is not legally required.”
She stared at me like I had personally offended her ancestors. “I am not marrying anyone before caffeine,” she said firmly.
“You require coffee first?”
The standoff lasted approximately four seconds.
“Five minutes,” she said. “Coffee. Then you can drag me into your corporate matrimony.”
I exhaled through my nose.
“Kitchen,” I conceded.
Her lips twitched in victory as we made our way slowly down the hallway.
The kitchen smelled faintly of last night’s rosemary. She maneuvered carefully toward the coffee machine, adjusting her balance on the crutches. I hovered, and of course, she felt it.
“Stop hovering,” she said without looking at me.
“I’m not.”
“You are.” She glanced at me.
“You’re very sure about a lot of things,” I said in amusement as I watched her pull the coffee down from the shelf above the coffee maker.
“Yes,” she said without even a glance, she just scooped the coffee into the filter as I took the pot and filled it with the filtered water at the sink.
“Except me,” I said
The comment landed softer than I intended. She cocked her head as she considered it.
“I don’t think so,” she said. She stilled slightly.
“Oh?”
She looked at me with a smile I hadn’t seen before, one that lit up a place in my heart that had been dark for a long time. It was a place I wasn’t even sure was still there.
“I may not be certain why you are doing this, but I am certain you are about to become overbearing.”
It was playful, not an accusation.
“I’m equally certain you’ll attempt to minimize your injury within the next hour.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I am also certain you would leave this house without treatment if I permitted it.”
She didn’t argue.
“I am certain,” I continued, “that you do not like needing help.”
