Page 33 of Forged Flight

Still, I’d rather be the one in pain than Micah, who spent the night sleeping comfortably in my big, warm bed.

Oh, goddess.

That tiny veterinarian has me wrapped around his finger, and he doesn’t even know it.

Stretching my sore arms overhead, I stumble into the kitchen and light the stove. A blue flame flickers to life. I scoop fresh coffee grounds into my drip pot, fill it with water, and set it on the heat. The sound of bubbling water floats through the kitchen as I lean against the counter, arms crossed over my bare chest.

Knowing how drunk Micah was last night, I imagine he’ll be in desperate need of coffee too.

As funny as it was watching him stumble around, flirting with me and losing his usual inhibitions, part of me can’t shake the worry I feel for him. Being a veterinarian can’t be easy. Spending your entire career watching innocent creatures die, despite doing everything in your power to save them, has to take a toll.

But Micah is a good vet. He’s smart, innovative, and compassionate. His whole face lights up whenever he talks about helping animals.

I just wish he could see what I see in him.

“Mornin’.”

Micah’s groggy, scratchy voice floats across the room.

I glance over to find him standing in the doorway of my bedroom, still wearing nothing but my tunic, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. The oversized shirt hangs below his knees, leaving his slender calves on full display. Subtle muscles shift beneath his brown skin, his legs dusted with a soft layer of black hair.

“Morning,” I reply, forcing my eyes back to the stove. “I made coffee. Would you like some?”

He lets out a tired sigh. “You’ve already done more than enough. I should get going—”

“It’s fine. It’s just coffee.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds.

When I glance over, he’s worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes are bloodshot and heavy with exhaustion, and a guilty expression twists across his face as he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

“It’s alright. You had a rough day.”

“I’m…” He pauses, clearing his throat as he stares down at the floor. “Very embarrassed.”

“There’s no reason to be. You have a tough job. It’s no wonder it takes a toll on you.”

He shrugs. “Still. You shouldn’t have seen me like that.”

A dry laugh escapes me. “Trust me, Doc, I’ve seen my fair share of drunken idiots in my day. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

I turn back to the stove and grab the coffee pot, pouring two steaming mugs before carrying them to the dining table. I pull out a chair and nod toward it.

“Sit down. Relax for a minute.”

Micah hesitates, pigeon-toed and awkward, before finally settling into the chair. He wraps both hands around the mug I set in front of him and takes a cautious sip. His eyes flutter closed behind his glasses, the lenses catching the soft glow of early morning light streaming through the window.

“Oh, goddess.”

I chuckle. “That good?”

He nods and takes another drink. After a few more sips, he sets the mug down and rubs his temples with his fingertips.

I frown. “Headache?”

“Yeah.” He winces, pressing his fingers harder against his temples. “Probably a hangover. Maybe stress.” He pauses, then adds dryly, “Or both.”