“The knife slipped.”
“You couldn’t see what you were cutting. For future reference, don’t use a knife when you’re upset.” But the injury didn’t bother him as much as her tears.
“You’re right.” Her voice was thickened. “I should have put the knife down and done something else to let off steam. I might go for a walk. Shovel some snow.”
“There is a blizzard out there. You’re staying right here.” Ignoring the scent of her and the feel of her, he unwrapped her finger and held it under the running water. “It’s not too bad. I can fix that.”
She sniffed. “You’re always fixing me.”
He turned off the water and dried her finger. “Press hard and keep the pressure on. I need to find my first-aid box.”
He delved into a cupboard and found it at the back. It hadn’t been opened in a while. He hoped it still contained what he needed although he was pretty sure there was nothing in there that would deal with Sky’s parental issues.
She stood, gazing out of the window. “Are you going to say, ‘I told you so’?”
He opened the first-aid kit and delved through dressings and bandages.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you told me not to answer the phone.”
“You didn’t answer the phone.” He closed the wound with adhesive strips. “You let it go to voice mail.”
“And then I immediately listened to it. Do you think I need an intervention?”
No. He thought she could do with a new set of parents, or at the very least giving the current set a serious shake-up. “They left you a message. Of course you’re going to listen to it. You did what felt right for you.”
“It feels like crap.” She winced as he pressed on her finger. “I’ve ruined the soup.”
“No, you haven’t.” He placed a sterile pad over her finger and strapped it into place. “But maybe we’ll skip the potato.”
She gave a choked laugh. “No matter what trouble I’m in, you always manage to make me laugh.”
“That’s because you laugh at anything and everything.”
“It’s either laugh or cry. You’re always so calm. Is there any situation you can’t handle?”
“Plenty.” He couldn’t handle her crying. He couldn’t handle seeing her upset or injured. “For a start I wouldn’t be able to handle what you’re handling.”
“What do you mean?”
“You deal with your family better than I would.”
“I don’t have a choice. If I want to keep them in my life, I have to do what I can to keep the peace. But right now—” She breathed. “My mother thinks I’m idealistic and romantic.”
Alec decided this was one of those occasions when it was better to listen than comment.
He secured the dressing and let go of her hand.
Her head was almost on his shoulder, her hair brushing against his jaw.
“Do you?” She spoke so softly he could hardly hear her.
“Do I what?”
“Think I’m unrealistic. I want this grand passion and my mother thinks that doesn’t exist.”
Alec stood still, breathing in the scent of her, blinded by how much he wanted her. He didn’t understand how you could want something so badly when it was already yours. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I don’t know if that’s unrealistic.”