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She looked at me over the tablet again, her breath puffing her surgical mask. Then she looked over at Taavi.
“Will you be staying with him?” she asked him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered.
She nodded again. “Good. I’ll be sure to give you the printed copy of the instructions for patient care and feeding.”
Taavi nodded back. “I’ll make sure to follow the instructions carefully.”
She smiled at him, then looked back at me. “You are a lucky elf, Mr. Hart.”
“I am,” I agreed.
She smiled again. “I’ll get started on your discharge paperwork.”
* * *
Even though I’dknown that I wasn’t going to just go back to my usual life the day I got out of the hospital, I wasn’t prepared for how tired I would get just trying to get home and back into my apartment.
I was also not prepared for how utterly desperate my cat was going to be for pets and attention.
I’d insisted that I didn’t want to be stuck in the bedroom, so Taavi got me ensconced on the couch with a couple of extra pillows and blankets. Pet had claimed my lap, purring and kneading her paws against my thigh. She’d screamed from the second I got in the door until she was able to snuggle up, and it made me feel loved.
So did Taavi.
He brought me drugs when I needed them, kept me well-stocked with snacks that were absolutely horrific in terms of nutritional content, but full of tasty, processed chemical flavor. My mother would be mortified.
I didn’t give a shit.
I’d make it a few days without vegetables and fruit. Right now, I just wanted calories. My body needed them to heal, and it had a lot of healing to do.
I was tucked up on the couch when Taavi came in and settled on the floor, leaning his head back so that the top of his skull brushed against my hip. I dropped my fingers—much more usable than they had been two days ago—to run over his thick, dark hair.
“Halloween movies?” I asked him.
I saw a small smile flit across his features. “Sure.”
I tapped two fingers against the top of his head. “What?” I asked him.
He turned to look at me, brows up.
“What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing, really.”
“Taavi.”
He shrugged. “It’s almostDía de Muertos.”
I knew what that was—I knew Ward, who was a walking zombie every year from just before Halloween until November third when he finally got a chance to sleep. “Do you usually put up a…” I couldn’t remember the word.
“Anofrenda.” He smiled softly. “I’ve always done something. A photograph and a candle.” He shrugged. “I never really had all that much.”
“We could make one,” I suggested.
Taavi looked surprised. “I—” He studied my face. “I’d like that,” he murmured, finally.
When he went into the kitchen to make dinner, I texted Ward.
