“Multitasking is a core skill of an intern.”
He gave me a look.
I let my head fall back against the pillow. “Fine. No work.”
“Thank you.”
A few minutes passed as I ate. He sent a text, probably rescheduling an empire. Max crunched his dinner with old-man enthusiasm. My apartment felt different with Rafe in it. Not smaller, exactly. Safer, which was more dangerous.
“You really didn’t have to do this,” I said.
“I know.”
“I would have managed.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why?”
I expected him to say something practical. Max needed walking. The team needed you healthy. Something tidy and professional enough for both of us to survive.
Instead, he said, “Because I wanted to.”
My throat closed. Very inconvenient when already inflamed, because I started coughing again.
When I recovered, I looked down at the ramen. “That’s a lot of emotional pressure to put on a noodle.”
“Eat, Quinn.”
I did.
Later, after I’d taken my medicine and drunk my tea, after an extremely dignified argument where Max refused to leave the bed area and Rafe refused to let me take him out myself, the three of us ended up in my living room. Rafe fed Max, gave him his supplements, and walked him around the block, while I changed into clean pajamas and relocated to the sofa wrapped in a quilt. When he returned, Max trotted in, satisfied but tired, and collapsed on his bed with a sigh.
Rafe hung the leash on its hook by the door.
My apartment should not have looked natural around him, but it did.
He glanced at the television. “What were you watching?”
“Nothing. I’m too busy dying.”
“You’re not dying.”
“You don’t know that,” I countered.
“I’m not letting that happen.”
I swallowed and picked up the remote before I could yearn. “We need something low stakes.”
He sat at the far end of the sofa. “What do you usually watch when ill?”
“Comfort movies. Home Alone. Hocus Pocus. The Mummy.”
He frowned. “I haven’t seen any of those.”
I turned my head slowly. He looked back, untroubled.
“You’ve never seen The Mummy?”