“Like a shrink,” Wolfe muttered. “I’ll make a note on it for her file.”
“My file? You have a file for me?”
“Of course.” Wolfe blinked at her from behind his glasses as though it was totally normal and wasn’t she weird for questioning him.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s . . . it’s . . . what’s in it?”
“Medical information from the doctor, who we’ll never use again. I’ll send a complaint about his unprofessionalism.”
“He wasn’t unprofessional,” she protested.
“He flirted with you,” Wolfe stated.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Yes, he did.”
She turned to give Caleb an exasperated look. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
He raised an eyebrow. Then looked to Wolfe. There, Caleb would set him straight. “I wouldn’t waste your time on an email, just blackball him on the list.”
“Caleb!”
“He flirted with you,” Caleb confirmed. “And you are ours.”
Damn. Those words.
“I still don’t know if this is a good idea. I don’t think I can lose you all again,” she whispered.
Caleb wrapped her hand in his. “You won’t.”
“I’m working out a schedule for you,” Wolfe told her, writing in a notebook.
“I need a schedule?”
“Uh-huh. What time would you normally say you wake up? Around seven?”
She didn’t even know what to say. Was he for real right now?
“I’ll put seven,” Wolfe said when she didn’t reply. “We can adjust it as well as your nap times if need be.”
Nap times?
“I’ll put in time for exercise once your ankle is completely healed, I take it you still like to run?”
“Yes, but—”
“You need to build up some muscle, you’re far too puny.”
“Puny?” she said, outraged.
“Need to get you on a scale,” Wolfe muttered. “But the doctor estimated that you’re a good twenty pounds underweight. Gonna take a bit to get you back up to a fighting weight.”
“I’m not planning on taking up boxing,” she pointed out.