Page 43 of Ms Perfectly Fine
He didn’t need her to tell him. His forearm was stinging. Autumn’s soft features hardened as concern drifted into her eyes.
“You scared me! Why did you push the pan?” she snapped, taking hold of his arm and examining the reddening skin.
“I didn’t want it to hit you,” he explained, shaking his hand, trying to stop the tingling burn. He hadn’t touched it for long enough to do any real damage. “It’s fine, but I do need to get to the sink.”
He tried to get to the sink, but she didn’t let go of his arm. He picked her up out of the way so he could get to the sink she was blocking. She didn’t protest, much to his surprise.
“Sorry,” she muttered as he turned the tap on.
“It’s fine,” he said with a wince, putting his forearm under the cold water.
“You need to keep it there for five minutes,” she ordered. “You don’t want it to blister.”
He was too busy staring at her holding his hand to notice what she was saying.
“Better?” she asked when he didn’t respond, and he nodded. “You can’t shove hot pans.”
“I think I’ve had enough of a scolding. Can you get the first-aid kit while I keep it under the water?” he asked, wanting to give her something to do to stop her from fretting so much.
She climbed up on the counter to reach the top shelf of the medicine cabinet; he noticed a long, thin scar beside her knee as she went through the basket she pulled out. The scar was old, but he could see how the faint white line ran jagged and wondered how she’d got it.Was this from the same incident as her back or another one?
His eyes caught hers, and she followed his gaze to her knee.
“I fell trying to skateboard when I was seven. It’s nothing,” she said.
He nodded.Not the injury she went to the rehab centre for.He flexed his elbow. The burned skin felt tight already.
“How’d you get yours?” Autumn asked, focusing on his burn. He didn’t know what she was talking about until she pointed to her upper lip.
“Dad clocked me when I crashed his wedding anniversary drunk. We…don’t have the best relationship,” he replied easily, moved by the sadness in her eyes.
She didn’t say anything to fill the silence, and he guessed she regretted asking. It didn’t help that she knew his father—she just didn’t know he was Tim. Surprisingly, he appreciated the silence. She didn’t try and make it better, she just accepted the information and went back to rifling through the open box. He quite enjoyed being injured if it meant seeing this caring side of her.
“I only have burn cream. Do you think you need one of those gel patches? I think it’s too late to go to the chemist,” she said as he tried not to let her concern make him so happy.
“The cream will be fine,” he reassured her, watching her shoulders relax. He offered her his arm since he doubted from her creased brow that she would let him do it himself.
“The water helped; it doesn’t look too bad,” she said, dabbing the tender skin with cream. “Thankfully, it’s only a surface burn.”
Her touch was so gentle, contrasting with everything else he had seen in her. Her hair fell in front of her face, and he couldn’t resist brushing it behind her ear. She mumbled a thank you. How her nose scrunched as she finished applying the cream made his heart clench.
“Do you think it needs a bandage?” she asked.
“No, I think it will be better to let the air at it,” he said, and she didn’t argue. “I’ll have a big enough blister tomorrow.”
“You might get lucky,” she said, only to still a second later.
He smirked, catching her blush.
“Notget lucky—I meant you might not get a blister,” she stammered. It was the first time he had seen a genuine smile reach her eyes.
“Are you hungry?” Autumn asked, lifting the lid of the boiling water and switching off the hob. Steam wafted up around them, and the sweet, spicy scent made his mouth water.
“What were you cooking?” he asked, trying to draw out their conversation.
“Stir-fried noodles. There’s plenty, if you’re hungry. Or would you prefer to steal it when I’m not looking?” She sounded unsure, as if any ounce of kindness between them would crumble her façade, but he was sure now that there was a big heart under there.Does it really take that much concentration to make noodles, or is she just avoiding looking at me?
“Funny. I won’t steal them since you are willing to share—and since I bought them. I could eat,” he admitted while she drained the noodles in the sink. “I’m sorry for stealing your meals. I’m so used to ordering food, but yours are much better.”
