Early the next morning, Robin emerged from her bedroom and walked slowly to the couch just as Derek was about to leave for a run around the neighborhood. I winced when I saw her face.
“I know I look like hell,” she muttered. “And oh, joy, I feel like it, too.” It took her a few seconds of careful maneuvering to sit comfortably on the couch.
“I think the swelling has gone down,” I said, studying her.
“Maybe a little. But my face still looks like a punching bag.”
“Let me see it.” Derek sat on the coffee table in front of Robin and gently touched her cheek and temple around her swollen eye. Yesterday, that whole area was dark pink, but today it was mottled black and blue and purple.
While Derek examined the bruising, I filled a small Ziploc bag with ice and wrapped it in a clean dish cloth.
“The swelling is better today,” he said. “And the blood has clotted where the capillaries broke, so it’s already healing quite well.”
“And yet it’s hideous,” Robin murmured, and took the ice bag from me. “Go ahead. You can say it out loud.”
“Never,” he said, smiling as he ran his knuckles along her undamaged jaw. “You’ve been heroic through it all. Yes, you’re a bit battle scarred now, but within a week you’ll be healed and back to your beautiful self.”
She shifted her gaze to me. “He’s good at this.”
I smiled and nodded, so grateful he was there. Nothing like a gorgeous man telling a woman she’s beautiful to make her feel better about life in general.
“I’ll be back with bagels and cream cheese in short order,” Derek promised before enveloping me in his arms and kissing me soundly.
Just for a second or two, I melted right into him. Then I walked with him down the hall to the front door and kissed him once more before sending him off on his run.
“You’re domesticating him,” Robin said when I returned to the living room.
“Domesticating?” I said, and laughed at the very idea. Derek was way too dangerous to ever be called domesticated. Shaking my head, I said, “Not likely. He still seems wild and untamed to me.”
“Don’t worry. He’s still got that ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe going for him, but he’s turned into a *cat around you.”
Good to know, I thought, but said, “Don’t ever say that to him, I beg of you.”
“I won’t. But he’s still a *cat.”
I smiled. “To be honest, ever since I first saw him, I’ve thought of him as a big jungle cat. A panther. Or a jaguar. Always on guard, always on the hunt.”
“Panther works for me. Very sexy.” She sighed and laid her head back against the cushion. “It’s just nice to see what a real man is like around the house.”
“Now, that I totally agree with. But just so you know, he’s not completely perfect—he sometimes forgets to take out the trash.”
“What a beast.”
“Isn’t he?” I said. “And you would never know it, but he reads car magazines obsessively. You know, with articles about tires and steering wheels? Can you imagine?”
“That’s unexpected. But it’s kind of manly.”
“I suppose,” I said with a laugh.
Pookie jumped on the couch and meowed at Robin. “Hey, speaking of big jungle cats,” she said, pulling the cat into her lap and stroking his back.
I walked into the kitchen to start the coffee and a pot of tea, trying to keep an eye on Robin as I worked.
She wore the black sweatpants I’d bought her yesterday afternoon. Our official shopping expedition had been canceled, naturally, but she still needed clothes, so shortly after Derek had arrived with the items my mother had recommended, I’d raced out to the local Old Navy store.
Typically, Robin never would have stepped foot inside a discount store, but these were not normal times. She wasn’t going anywhere special, and sweatpants were the most comfortable thing in the world to wear. I bought her three pairs—black, navy, and red—plus three cute hoodies in contrasting shades, along with socks, undies, and three cotton turtlenecks in black, white, and beige. That was the extent of my flair for fashion.
“Will you be able to chew a bagel?” I asked, as I pulled coffee mugs out of the cupboard.
“If I can’t eat a bagel, I’ll slit my wrists.”
“We could pulverize it in the blender, add a little milk, and you could drink it through a straw. A bagel smoothie.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“I know.” I grinned as I walked over to the couch and took the ice bag from her. “Ten minutes on, ten minutes off.”
“It’s bad enough that I look like shit,” she said, and gingerly touched her damaged eyelid. “I really don’t want to think about having to eat through a straw for the next week.”
“You’re able to talk okay, so I imagine you can move your jaw well enough to eat something. We’ll heat up the bagel just enough to soften it, and it should be fine.”
“I’ll make it work.”