Reunited In The Snow. Amalie Berlin

door.

      He didn’t move. He was finally starting to feel a little hopeful that she would get over him, that he wouldn’t ruin her, too. “Are you finally getting angry?”

      “Is that good, too?”

      “Yes,” he immediately answered, maybe a little too loudly.

      “Why?”

      He lowered his voice a little and shook his head. “Because I hate seeing you with red eyes.”

      “Sorry I’m disappointing you by being human.”

      “The Lia Monterrosa I know wouldn’t let—”

      “Maybe that’s the problem, then.” She cut him off. “You don’t know me. And I’m tired of cleaning up messes of the men who should’ve loved me, but didn’t. You left me to call off the wedding, after I figured out you weren’t coming back, and I waited up until the last minute. Nine days after my father burned down half of the estate and dropped off the face of the earth so I’ve had to clean it up for the hundreds of people who rely on the vineyard for their livelihoods. Then I had to cancel my wedding because my fiancé disappeared, too. It was a great week.”

      He hadn’t thought about the timing back then, but now seemed a good time to ask, since all information about her emotional state was of value. “Did you get it repaired?”

      “Does it matter?” she asked, then stretched out in the bed, rolling to face the wall. “Thanks for the heater. You’re still a babaca.”

      Final words if he’d ever heard them; even if he didn’t understand the actual last one, he could read between the lines. Jerk. Ass. Something like that. And a little bit angrier, thank God. Anger was fire, and fire meant the will to fight. That was better than just curling up and taking whatever life had thrown at her.

      But staying out of her way as much as possible until it was time to go was the right call. He definitely should go on that day trip into the field tomorrow. Even one day of distance had to help.

      “What’re you doin’?”

      The familiar cadence of West’s nearly tamed brogue stopped Lia midstick.

      She lifted her gaze from the butterfly needle she’d been fishing for a vein with at the crook of her elbow to see him in the doorway, leaning, rough from a prolonged field mission, still wearing the thick red thermal suit, large duffel bag hanging on his shoulder.

      It had been three days since she’d last seen him. Three days since their really awesome and definitely not soul-crushing discussion. Of course he’d be the one to find her performing a sneaky blood draw on herself.

      “Trying and failing to get some blood.”

      He dropped the bag outside the door and meandered into the small exam room. “Maybe because you’re right-handed and trying with your left.”

      “I have tiny veins, they’re hard to hit, and the best one is on the right elbow crook.” She halfway withdrew the tiny butterfly needle again, tilted it slightly and pushed forward again, gritting her teeth. Somehow it hurt more having to watch the needle, and when she was doing the steering, she definitely had to watch.

      He headed for the sink, washed his hands and stepped to her side. “Stop.”

      He didn’t swat her hand, but she heard the reprimand coming as he pinched the butterfly above where she’d held it, and she let go.

      “You just had panels run six days ago.” Dr. Obvious held the needle still and used his free hand to lightly palpate the vein above, considering his next move.

      “I know. I was there.”

      “You could’ve had Tony do this for you, or anyone else in the department.”

      “I know that, too.”

      He didn’t try to press the needle into the vein again, just took it out and watched as absolutely nothing happened. No blood. No extra firmness when he prodded the vein, which would indicate she’d at least perforated it and would have an unholy bruise. Nothing.