“You generally fell asleep before I finished.”
“I could do that now.”
“After you eat.”
The medication needed food. More importantly, Noah had lost too much weight during his hospitalization to skip meals whenever his appetite disappeared.
I put toast on a plate and sat down again.
He took one reluctant bite.
“You really slept in there?”
“Yes.”
“Was it as miserable as it looks?”
“Yes.”
He blinked at my honesty. “You could have spared my feelings.”
“You asked me not to lie.”
“I meant about important things.”
“The couch was designed by someone with a personal grievance against the human spine.”
His gaze dropped to my coffee mug.
“You should sleep in the bed tonight.”
My hand stopped halfway to my mouth.
“Noah.”
“I’m not suggesting sex.”
“I know.”
“I’m not promising touching either.”
“I know that too.”
“Then stop looking like I proposed something dangerous.”
I set the mug down carefully.
“You don’t have to invite me because I slept badly.”
“I’m not.”
“Or because you think I expect—”
“You are making both of us miserable over a fear I never said I had.”
I studied him.
“What are you afraid of?”
