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She blinked. “The whole crate?”

“The orders.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” But I wasn’t about to explain that it would give me something to do besides look at her and realize how out of my element I was. I headed for the mudroom, and she followed.

“I can help.”

“No need.”

“I know how to lift things.”

“I’m not arguing about it.”

“Cole.”

I shoved my arms into my coat and looked at her.

She crossed her arms. “You are unbelievably bossy.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Her mouth twitched.

I walked back to the front door and pulled it open. Cold cut through the warmth and brought a spray of ice with it. “Stay inside.”

“Why?”

“It’s slippery out here.”

“I managed to walk across your porch when I got here.”

“And you almost slid twice.”

She opened her mouth, then shut it. She hadn’t realized I’d noticed. I noticed most things about her. Always had.

I stepped out before she could say anything else. The ice hit my face hard enough to sting, and the porch boards were slick under my boots.

The crate sat where my driver had left it, half under the overhang. Bad placement. He’d be hearing about that too. A few more hours and everything inside would’ve been sitting in freezing water.

I crouched and worked the straps loose. The door opened behind me.

“Emmy.”

“I’m staying on the porch.”

I looked back. She stood with one hand on the doorframe, her coat zipped up to her chin.

“Good.”

“I’m not helpless.”

“I know.”

“You act like I am.”

“No.” I turned back and pulled one of the smaller boxes free. “I act like I know when something’s dangerous.”