Noah caught the front of my shirt and pulled me closer.
The kiss began with gratitude and turned quickly into want. His mouth opened, warm and eager. He leaned into me with more trust than balance.
I slid one arm around him.
His left hand, still weak, rested against my chest.
The contact sent heat through me.
He made a low sound when my tongue touched his.
I nearly forgot the stairwell, the yard, every rule I had made.
Then his body sagged.
I broke the kiss and held him upright.
“Bed.”
“Couch.”
“Either.”
“Food first.”
“That is progress.”
He smiled, eyes heavy.
“You taste good.”
“You are delirious.”
“Possible.”
I settled him on the couch and brought water, medication, cheese, crackers, and apple slices.
He ate with his eyes half closed.
Then sleep took him before I finished washing the plate.
I covered him with a blanket and left lunch within reach for later.
Downstairs, Owen met me near the rear bay.
“He looked happy.”
“He was.”
“You look happy.”
“I am neutral.”
“You kissed him on the landing.”
My head turned.
Owen raised both hands.
