“You can do it tomorrow.”
“I want to do it now.”
His tone carried the stubbornness Caleb and Owen had been waiting to hear.
I looked at the fatigue beneath his eye.
“One room, then we reassess.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“Bedroom and bathroom count as one section.”
“That is not how rooms work.”
“It is how negotiation works.”
I smiled despite myself.
“Bathroom first.”
“Agreed.”
I brought the powered chair beside the couch and locked the wheels.
Noah shifted forward.
The movement was smoother than it had been that morning. He placed his left foot carefully, used the couch arm for leverage, and rose while I steadied him at the waist.
For one breath, we stood close.
His chest nearly touched mine.
His hair smelled of hospital shampoo and the salt air that entered through the old windows. The brace beneath his sweater made one side of his body rigid, but the rest of him was warm and alive beneath my hands.
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
Then returned to my eyes.
Neither of us moved.
“Still no dizziness?” I asked.
“No.”
His voice had lowered.
My palms remained at his waist a second too long.
I stepped back and guided him into the chair.
Noah watched me secure the support beneath his injured arm.
“You always get serious when you touch me.”
The observation caught me unprepared.
