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Rhy faltered, his face pinking. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mom mustered a weak giggle, rising up and sliding her purse over her shoulder. “Got an electric shock, that is all. Calla, you feel all better soon, okay, cucciolotta?” She tapped Cal’s arm.
“Doubtful, with your son around.” Cal grinned.
Mom let out a laugh, reaching to tuck a lock of hair behind Cal’s ear. “I see you are handling him just fine.”
I swatted Mom’s hand away. “She’s injured. You could hurt her.”
Mamma ruffled my hair. “You’re my favorite son.”
“I’m your only son.”
“Same difference.”
Cal blinked at me as the door clicked shut behind them. “What’s cucciolotta? She’s been calling me that for years.”
“Little puppy.”
“She picked up on my Golden Retriever energy.” A smile teased her mouth.
“Don’t smile. Any movement you make might reopen the wound,” I chided her.
She sighed. “Can you please stop treating me like I’ve been run over by a semitrailer?”
“Now that’s an image for my spank bank.” I tucked her flyaways behind her ear softly. “Can I take a look?”
She flinched. “Will you be gentle?”
“When have I not been?” I growled.
Her eyebrows shot to her hairline in response. “That time you threw me and Dylan into the pool when we were in fourth grade and I accidentally bumped my head. And in grade nine when you stepped on my toe and broke it when I asked you to teach me how to slow dance before prom. Oh! And there was also that ti—”
“It was a rhetorical question. Yes, I’ll be gentle.” I scowled. At least now I knew it wasn’t a concussion. I slowly peeled the damp napkins from her forehead, holding my breath. “How did you manage to hurt yourself?”
“You know, easily, as per usual.” She focused on a point on the ceiling to brave the burn that came from the dry blood gluing her skin and the cloth together. “I was running to get one of the patrons the wine menu—”
“You were running?” I snarled.
She gave me a pointed look. “I thought you encouraged me to run.”
“In open spaces. Away from sharp objects. With a fucking helmet, preferably.”
Way to charm her pants off, Casablancas, Rhyland’s voice chortled in my head. I’m sure she’s seconds away from printing out your wedding invitations.
“It’s not even how I fell, okay?” She tapered her eyes. “I was trying to show Katie I can do a straddle split.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or bash my own head against the wall. Fuck. Why was she so unapologetically, wonderfully herself?
“What made you think you could do a straddle split?”
“The fact that I was an athlete in high school and that I’m awesome?” She blinked at me seriously. “I’m extremely flexible.”
“Would love to test that theory.”
I shed the napkins from her forehead, dumping them on the floor. The cut stared right back at me. It didn’t seem too deep, but there was a small chunk of skin missing, and I knew it would leave a scar.
“How do I look?” She gulped. Her head was still nestled in my arm.
