I accept it and bring it close, letting the heat seep into my palms.
Maverick sits on the edge of the bed and moves the blanket off my feet. He checks my toes carefully before moving on to my fingers still wrapped around the hot mug.
I go still when his thumb pauses near the missing digit.
He notices, but that’s it.
He gives the smallest nod and moves on to the rest of my fingers.
My throat tightens.
“Got too cold,” I admit.
His eyes lift to mine.
I look down at the coffee because it’s easier than looking at him.
“For some reason, when the blood flow came back to the others, that one never did.” I shrug, trying to make it smaller than it feels. “They had to take it.”
“How old were you?” he asks.
“Twenty-three.” I take a careful sip of coffee. “It was a bad winter. Bad circulation. Bad timing. I ignored it too long because I was stubborn and broke.”
“Amelia.”
“I know.”
“You could have lost more.”
“I know that too.”
His thumb brushes lightly along the shortened tip of my finger.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” My voice comes out too quiet. “I’ve learned to live without it.”
His eyes lift to mine.
I try to shrug, but it feels too small for the moment.
“Mostly, I forget about it. Then someone new notices, and I remember all over again.”
“I noticed the first time I met you,” he says. “I just didn’t know the cause.
Maverick lowers his head and presses his lips to what’s left of my missing fingertip.
My breath catches.
Is such a gentle thing.
So small.
But it hits me harder than it should.
Like he’s kissing the part of me I stopped offering for anyone to look at too closely.
Livy peeks out from under the blanket. “Mama’s finger is shy. We don’t make a big deal about it.”
