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He pauses in the doorway.
His eyes find me almost immediately.
Something about that realization makes my stomach flutter.
“So,” I say, folding my arms over my ribs like a shield, “do I have you to thank for the rescue, or were you hoping to collect the reward?”
He steps into the sunlight.
“Depends who's paying.”
I should leave it there.
Instead...
“Come sit.”
I pat the sofa beside me.
“I can change your bandages.”
One eyebrow lifts.
“Do you have experience with traumatic wounds?”
“Nothing but.”
A small smile escapes before he can stop it.
He sits.
Closer than necessary.
Not close enough.
I peel away the ruined bandages.
Up close the injuries are worse than I'd realized—deep gouges, angry bruising, dried blood along the edges.
I wince.
He doesn't.
He simply watches me with an intensity that makes it difficult to remember how breathing works.
“Theo said...”
I smooth fresh gauze over his shoulder.
“...you carried me all the way down the mountain.”
He shrugs.
“You were tired.”
That's it.
That's his explanation.
