Page 46 of Vital Signs
Snow started falling outside the glass doors. Big, lazy flakes. Beautiful… harmless until they weren’t. “I don’t like the idea of you alone in it,” I said quietly. My hand flexed at my side as I fought back the urge to cup her cheek in my hand. “Say yes.”
Her breath caught. I saw it. The moment the offer stopped being about weather and became something else entirely. “Okay,” she said. “Sure, fine.“
Just that. Relief hit me so hard I had to hide it behind a nod. “I’ll pick you up,” I said. “We can stop for groceries.”
She hesitated, then smiled. “Guess I should pack a bag,” I watched her walk away, already bracing myself for two days of proximity I would pretend was nothing more than common sense.
The snow fell harder.
When I picked her up later that evening, it was just after dusk.
Her apartment building looked exactly as I’d imagined. Narrow. Tired. The type of place that hummed even when it was quiet. She came out bundled in a coat that was too thin for the weather, and a duffle bag slung over her shoulder as if she had prepared to improvise.
She smiled when she saw me, leaning against the hood of the car as I waited. “Hey,” she said, as if this were normal. Like she hadn’t been living in my head for weeks now.
“Hey,” I replied, already reaching for her bag.
“You don’t have to?—”
“I know,” I said, taking it anyway. “You need a warmer coat.” I noted as I tossed her bag into the backseat. Her nose scrunched as I opened her door; she looked as though she was deciding whether or not to make fun of me.
Her mouth twitched, but she slid in. The car warmed quickly. Snow ticked softly against the windshield; the city blurred into lights and white. She fiddled with the radio until she foundsomething unobtrusive and familiar, then rested her hands in her lap, trying very hard not to make this a thing.
“So…” she said. “Grocery store.”
“Yes,” I said. “We’re just getting essentials.”
She eyed me. “Define essentials.”
“Things you’ll need to survive a weekend trapped in my house.” I pulled into the parking lot of the nicest grocery store within a five-mile radius. The kind with wide aisles and soft lighting and carts that didn’t scream when you touched them.
Her eyebrows lifted. “You shophere?”
“I work hard for my money. I can shop where I please,” I said. “And… they have really good bread.”
That earned me a grin.
Inside, she grabbed a cart before I could. Pushed it with purpose. I followed half a step behind, hands in my pockets, watching her move through the space as if she were cataloguing everything. The way she paused at the produce. The way she picked up an apple, turned it in her hand, then put it back for a better one.
“Do you cook?” she asked.
“I can feed myself,” I said.
“That’s not an answer.” But her grin wasdelicious.
“I’m… competent,” I amended. “I don’t just eat takeout every day, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She laughed, and the sound startled me. I hadn’t realized how badly I wanted that sound in a place that wasn’t fluorescent and bleeding. She tossed apples into the cart. Then oranges. Then paused, frowning at a display of pears. “These are good when they’re ripe,” she said, mostly to herself. “Look how bad these are.”
I added honey without comment, trying to distract myself fromanythingbut kissing her senseless in the produce aisle.
“Do you drink tea?” she asked, turning a box of loose leaves over in her hand.
“In storms,” I said. “When it’s cold.”
She nodded, as if that told her something important. “I like chamomile and mint tea, mostly.” She held the box up. “You pick.”
I was a goner. I took the mint tea box from her hand and snatched the matching chamomile from the shelf. “For you? Both.”
