Page 101 of The First Taste
“Is it… a parrot?” I guess.
She grins, hopping from one foot to the other. “It’s a pterodactyl! I learned all about flying predators at camp today!”
“Oh wow! Is this what they looked like?”
“Yes. Mrs. Fish told us that they ate meat, mainly fish. And there were hundreds of different kinds.”
“That is so cool. Are you going to hang your drawing in your room?”
“I made it just for you.” She offers it to me.
“For me?” I take it from her, squeezing her shoulder softly. My heart swells in my chest. “Thank you so much, Isla.”
“It’s okay.” She bounces off, heading out of the room.
Keir steps back and watches her go. “Brush your teeth! And get ready for bed. I’ll come down and see you off to sleep in a bit.”
He squints after her for a few seconds, then shrugs. “No idea whether she’s actually going to follow through with that or not.”
The corners of my lips lift. “It’s impossible to say.”
He walks in the room, his eyes sparkling with some sort of dark humor.
“Why are you up here?” he asks.
I pull a face. “You have to promise not to laugh.”
Keir lifts three fingers. “I swear.”
Looking at him coyly, I shrug a shoulder.
“Isla took me for a brief hike yesterday. And now my body really aches. There is no decent place to stretch anywhere here. No smooth surfaces. Everything is stone. This is the most level surface I’ve found.”
He doesn’t laugh. Instead, his brows knit.
“You’re hurting?”
“Kind of. I am not used to working those muscles, apparently.” I can feel my cheeks turning red so I look down, resting my hand on my right leg.
“Why didn’t you say anything? I would’ve has a masseuse or a physical therapist brought in. While you’re here, I feel like it’s my duty to see to your physical health.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”
Keir folds his arms across his chest and glares at me. “It sounds like a big deal. Can I have a look?”
My face is on fire. I swallow and nod, embarrassed that he should see me this way. I’m vulnerable to him in this moment.
Especially if I let him examine my leg.
He kneels down beside me. “This one?”
He points to my right knee. I nod again, suddenly tongue tied. He runs his hand up my leg, stopping at the kneecap when I wince. He just barely skimming over my surgical scars but I almost writhe. His clever fingers trace where I fractured my knee and the plates and screws just under the new scar tissue there.
“This must have really hurt,” he rumbles.
I nod, heaving a sigh when his touch moves upward. Keir probes the ligaments above my knee, then runs his touch up to my quad muscle. My breath catches and I pull away.
“It hurts here?” He asks it lightly, but his gaze is direct and intense.
