Her hand is small. It’s delicate. A thin gold band circles her thumb.
A single drop of blood seeps out of the cut on her index finger.
“How deep is that?” I ask, reaching for her.
Her breath catches when I take her hand in mine, cradling it gently. “It’s not deep enough for stitches.”
I lean down to get a closer look.
She’s right. It’s shallow. My eye wanders over her palm, stopping at a half-inch scar that taints the perfect skin.
I circle the area with my fingertips. “This one was deeper. What happened here?”
Dabbing the tissue on the fresh cut, she laughs. “That’s a carrot’s fault.”
I hold back a smile. “A carrot?”
Her eyes lock on mine. Nodding, she sighs. “I had a pet rabbit when I was a kid. I grabbed a carrot and a knife to make dinner for it. The knife ended up in my hand.”
I wince. “That must have hurt like hell.”
She shrugs, sending the sweater another half-inch down her shoulder. “I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?”
Her head bows, a smiling playing on her full lips. “I passed out.”
I cock a brow.
“The sight of blood used to make me lightheaded,” she goes on. “When the knife pierced my skin, I hit the floor.”
I look her over from head-to-toe. “It looks like you’ve worked through that. You’re steady on your feet.”
“It’s all smoke and mirrors. I’m going to grab a bandage and wrap this up.”
I step aside when she brushe
s past me headed back toward her work area.
I follow behind her, easily keeping up with her hurried pace.
Popping open a plastic container on a bench near the table, she yanks out a bandage. She unwraps it and has it around her finger in an instant.
Tossing the tissue and the bandage wrapper in the trash, she finally turns her full attention back to me. “How can I help you, Liam?”
I wish to fuck I knew. I left my apartment this morning in search of fresh air and I ended up in this neighborhood. I never expected to find Athena at work this early. She got stuck in the middle of a shitty situation last night because of me and I want to make that right.
I didn’t anticipate that Wren would pull the plug on our relationship. We had our issues, but we were working through them. I thought we were headed toward better times, not a breakup.
Waiting for me to answer, Athena rounds the table, being mindful not to step on any pieces of the broken vase.
I do the same. I follow her lead when she crouches to pick up the glass.
The heels on her black boots are less than an inch. By my estimate, she’s no more than five foot two or three. I’ve got more than a foot in height and a hundred pounds on her, but down here, face-to-face, we’re on a level playing field.
“You don’t have to clean up my mess for me,” she says.
Reaching for a large piece of glass, I huff out a laugh. “It’s the least I can do after wasting hours of your life last night.”