“No,” he answered truthfully.
“Do you want to talk?”
“No,” he answered, again truthfully.
“Can I… is there something I can do?”
He was right.
She wanted to take care of him.
“Aye.”
“What?”
“You and Sally made chocolate chip cookies. They’re delicious but I prefer the oatmeal ones. You want to do something, make those for me tomorrow.”
Her body stilled then she breathed, “Are you serious?”
“Aye.”
She was silent.
Then she said, “You wake me up in the middle of the night. We… erm, you know. Then you get all intense and say something’s wrong but you won’t tell me what. And now you’re saying you want oatmeal cookies?”
He could see this would seem highly bizarre.
He didn’t care about that either.
“Aye.”
“Do you have a fever?”
Something relaxed inside him; he felt the fierce clutch of it let him go.
The warmth hit his gut and he smiled into her hair.
“I don’t have a fever, Elle.”
She pulled at his hold. “Maybe I should check.”
His hold again grew tight. “Just go to sleep.”
“Pren –”
“Sleep.”
“But –”
His hand curled on her breast, her body stilled then relaxed.
He nuzzled his face in her hair, his voice went low, soft and coaxing when he urged, “Sleep, baby.”
She didn’t answer.
She also didn’t sleep, not for some time.
Finally, he felt her body get heavy and he let out a relieved sigh.