But the stairs were well enough. None of the support beams had snapped.
His bedroom was cool and dark. Shapes hunched within the shadows: a warm bed, a wardrobe, and a large harp. We made our way into the washroom, and I flicked on the light. Both of us squinted in the white glare. “Sit,” I ordered.
He leaned and scooted onto the counter while I closed the door and turned the shower knobs, water as hot and strong as it would go. A sly smile tugged at the corners of Sam’s mouth. “Ana, I’m not sure this is the best time, but if you’d like to—”
“Shut up.” A relieved grin slipped out. If he could joke, he would be fine. “The steam will help loosen the glass, if there’s any left.”
“That’s less fun.” He pretended to pout as he unwrapped his hand and rinsed the blood away in the sink. I found bandages and ointment, and together we picked out the last slivers of glass while steam billowed from the shower. The mirror fogged, and the pounding water on the tub drowned out the sound of the world beyond the room.
“This doesn’t look too bad,” I said, spreading ointment over his fingers. Most of the cuts were superficial.
“Told you.” He held still while I wrapped his hand in clean bandages. “And it’s my left hand, which is a relief because I write with my right.” The shower made his voice deeper and fuller. “I’ll get along fine until my left recovers. And I don’t need either hand to kiss you.”
With a quiet gasp, I dropped the roll of bandage tape. “We should test that claim. I seem to remember you using your hands quite a bit when you kiss me.”
“Hmm.” He slid off the counter. “Perhaps this does deserve some experimenting.” He closed the short space between us and smoothed a strand of hair off my face. “Oh,” he murmured, “you’re right. There’s one.”
I stood on my toes and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. His lips were warm and soft from the steam filling the room.
“Two,” he said, curling one arm around my waist to pull me close. Lips breezed over my cheek and neck. “Three.” With his good hand, he nudged my nightgown off my shoulder and kissed bare skin, then trailed his fingertips down my arm. His touch ignited sparks that traveled all the way to my stomach. My breath fluttered. “You’re very right.” His lips grazed my collarbone. “I use my hands all the time when I kiss you.”
I would have melted if he hadn’t been holding me up. The steam, his touch, his kiss: they made me light-headed and giddy, in spite of everything that had happened not an hour ago. Safe in his arms, with only the sound of the shower running, I could forget about the outside world and the rest of our problems.
“Do you remember what we talked about last night?” I kissed his ear, his cheek.
Sam gave a low rumble of assent. “You said you love me.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?” Pleasure poured through me. After years of believing I wasn’t deserving of love, Sam had shown me I was. But that was different from accepting I could love others. Wrestling those feelings had been difficult, but last night, I’d said it, and it turned out that I’d loved him all along. “Guess what?”
He pulled away and met my eyes.
“I still love you today.”
His smile grew wide and warm.
“I heard a rumor,” I went on, “that the first day of the new year is your birthday.”
“Did you?” He suddenly looked shy.
“When we first met, you told me we shared a birthday.”
“Did I?” Panic flickered across his face, and his cheeks darkened. “I did. Oh.”
I kept my face as serious as I could manage, though laughter gathered in my chest and I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. “So?” I lifted an eyebrow.
His whole face was dark with embarrassment. “Would you believe I forgot when my birthday is?”
I snorted and laughed. That was exactly what I thought he’d say, because when I looked back on that day, I remembered the hesitation and momentary confusion before he declared we had the same birthday. He had forgotten. “It’s all right. I love you on your real birthday and on your fake birthday. And all the other days.”
He grinned, relaxing. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight. Would you—” He seemed to fumble for the right words. “Would you like to sleep here with me? In my room, I mean. Not the washroom.”
The mess would still be downstairs in the morning, and his bedroom had appeared relatively unharmed when we passed through. We could take care of everything else in the morning. Or not. Yesterday, the ruling Council had exiled me from Heart, and Sam was leaving with me. Soon, we’d be on our way east. We didn’t have to clean the house.
We could put off real life until dawn.