“That is cruel.”
“That is recovery.”
I rolled carefully onto my back.
My body complained in several places.
None alarmingly.
Reid watched every movement.
“Stop looking like you regret it.”
“I do not regret one second.”
“Then what?”
“I’m checking.”
“I’ll tell you.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He looked at me.
I placed my hand against his chest.
“Trust me to know when my body hurts.”
His expression softened.
“I do.”
“And trust me to speak.”
“I’m learning.”
I kissed him.
Morning breath.
Sleep-warm skin.
No urgency.
The intimacy after mattered differently.
We showered together because standing alone felt less appealing than leaning against Reid beneath warm water. He washed my hair. I washed his back.
Neither touch became sexual.
That felt like its own kind of ease.
Downstairs, Marian arrived at seven fifty carrying two boxes, a label maker, and a small potted plant with dark green leaves.
She looked at the office.
