Page 75 of My Husband Problem

“It’s an I-wasn’t-expecting-that oh.”

I surprised her. I like that. And I think I’m going to leave it at that for tonight.

I step to the front door and dig in my pocket for the key that I confiscated from underneath the otter. I unlock the door, push it open, and then step back for her to precede me.

She steps across the threshold, and I scoop up the otter statue and his broken arm. Can’t leave an injured animal outside on the porch, after all.

I shut and lock the door, then follow her through the living room lit only by the gaudy flowered lamp on the end table by the couch.

I put the otter on the kitchen table and watch as she crosses to one of the drawers and rummages inside. I set the front door key on the table. “Here’s the key to—” I break off when I see what she pulls from the drawer. I am immediately next to her, frowning, taking the small box from her. “Why do you need a first aid kit?” I demand.

Her eyes are wide when she lifts her hand. “I have a splinter. No big deal.”

I grasp her wrist and bring her hand up to inspect it. There’s a small splinter in the heel of her hand. “How?”

“From the railing.” She sighs. “I grabbed it when we almost fell.”

“Thatfuckingporch,” I swear.

“I’m fine. It’s no big deal.”

I don’t respond directly to that. I grasp her waist and lift her up onto the counter.

She gasps, but I ignore whatever indignation she might try to hit me with.

“Patty could fall through the floorboards. Wilson could trip up the steps.” I open the first aid box and start tossing aside items I don’t need. “What if Oscar gets out and gets a splinter inhispaw?”

I locate a needle—Jesus, I’m going to have to use aneedleon her? That fucking goddamned porch—and antibiotic cream and a bandage.

I look up when I hear a soft snort.

Astrid is watching me with an amused, disbelieving look. “You’re worried about mycat?”

“That porch is a hazard, Astrid,” I tell her. I tear open an alcohol wipe, rub it over the needle, then toss it aside.

“But Wilson and Patty and Oscar aren’t at as much risk. They won’t have you distracting them the way you were distracting me.”

She’s teasing me. In the space of just a little more than twenty-four hours, we’ve graduated to teasing. And kissing. And teasing about the kissing. I like that.

But now she’s hurt.

I take her hand, blow out a breath, and apply the tip of the needle to the splinter. “I don’t want anyone hurt. And for therecord…” I press on the needle. She holds her breath. “I intend to do what I was doing out there to you a lot more often, so I want to be sure I don’t have to worry about you being in pain afterward.”

I remove the splinter from her skin as I speak, then lift her hand to my lips. I kiss the spot, then suck gently, trying to override the pain sensation.

If the way her eyes darken and her cheeks get pink is any indication, it works.

I kiss her hand again, then bring it down. I wipe the now splinter-free spot with an antiseptic wipe, apply antibiotic cream, and then press a bandage into place, saying, “So no more porch visitors until we fix it.”

She frowns. “I don’t havea lotof porch visitors anyway. And those who do come, come even without an invitation. Wilson and Patty knew the porch was rickety before I did. I don’t know if you can really keep them away.”

I pin her with a look. “I can.”

She tips her head, absolutely not intimidated or impressed by my firm “I’m-in-charge-here” look. “That’s not the way to get Team Declan points.”

“I don’t care about Team Declan points, Astrid.”

Her eyes again flare with some emotion that seems a mix of heat and…affection?