I cross my arms in a huff as he sets me down. Taking the extra time to buckle me in like it’s my arms that aren’t working and not one foot.
The gentleness of his touch as delicate as if I were a piece of fine china. I want to be upset at his insistence but can’t find the nerve. Each new touch ignites a flutter with the heat of a dozen suns in my belly. That alone outweighs my fury.
Who knew Cole could be this gentle?
“This isn’t the way to the Caspers’,” I point out when he misses the exit.
“I know.”
“Where are we going?”
This turn of events is surprising enough for one day as is. I don’t need another.
He sighs his annoyance, and it’s too attractive. I’d been in his car dozens of times, but now it feels smaller.
“Are you going to tell me?” I ask, more desperate than before.
“If you must know, I’m going to grab us some food. Your ankle doesn’t look broken, just sprained, so it should be okay a little longer.”
The car shrinks again. He said us, not him.
He turns on his blinker, not looking my way once. “Besides, I’m starving.”
I busy myself trying to examine my ankle but it’s hard to do in such a confined space. Before I know it, we’re back at the mansion and once again, I’m lifted.
Tucked in one arm while he uses the other to hold the bag of food. Cradling everything up to my room.
Setting me down on the bed, he sets the brown paper bag on the side table and asks where the first aid kit is. Pointing, I tell him it’s under the sink in my bathroom.
“Lift,” he commands. Opening the box and tapping on my heel so he can place two pillows underneath to examine further after coming back.
My insides splinter for completely different reasons now.
Scooting over, I tell myself it’s to give him more room on the bed to sit, but it’s really because I’m overwhelmed. His actions—all of them—from the time the incident happened to now are something I’ve never seen in him.
They speak volumes to what his words never can.
“You know,” he starts. Rotating my foot slightly to wrap it after pulling off my sock and shoe. I bite back my wince. “It’s a good thing you have never been one of those girls at school who struts around in six-inch Satan forks.”
He cringes and I bite my tongue. Our actions are for two completely different reasons.
“This could have been a lot worse for you if you did wear them.”
The pain worsens at the base of my heal as he moves it again before setting it down, finishing. I choke down my sigh of relief.
“Not a fan of heels, Kellet?” I ask, examining his work after he’s done.
When he doesn’t respond right away, I lift my chin. The twisted stutter of his dislike almost makes me laugh.
Almost.
“I wouldn’t enjoy wearing them and I understand why you don’t,” he notes almost thoughtfully. Pulling off the items of my other foot to match the wrapped one.
Quietly I watch him work. Taking the same care he had with my injured one, pulling off the worn Chuck. The tranquility of watching his focus as mesmerizing as his care in bandaging me up.
The lines around his eyes crinkle as they go back to the other foot. My wrapped one. “It’s going to be a little tender for the next few days, but I was right. It’s not broken.”
“How can you be so sure?”