Page 135 of It Starts With A No

She peered over at the murky windows, then back at Seth. “I’m awake.” She rubbed her hands together, then winced.

“Do you want more painkillers?”

“No. I’m fine.” She glanced around. “Where’s Oliver?”

“At Zane’s.” He took her hand and froze. “Why are you so cold?” He put the back of his other hand against her forehead.

“I’m not sick. Your place is cold.”

He cupped both his hands around hers, tightening his grip as he tried to warm her up. “Sorry. We set the thermostat low since it’s supposed to help Oliver sleep better.”

“Like winter makes the bears hibernate?”

He laughed. “Sort of. I don’t question him. If he thinks it helps, then I don’t mind trying.” He led her to the dining table and reached into one of the three bags sitting there. He pulled out a cup. “Pumpkin spice latte. Oliver says it’s a hit with all the women at work, but if you don’t like it, I have Americano and—”

“Pumpkin spice latte is good.”

Seth put the cup into her hand. “I’ll go turn up the thermostat.”

She cradled the cup in her hand, taking a sip of the sweet treat.

“So I know we have a lot to discuss,” Seth said when he returned to the dining table. “Do you want another sweater? I can get you a jacket.”

She laughed softly. “I’m fine.” She lifted the cup. “I’m already feeling better.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She turned her attention to the other bags. “What are we having for breakfast?”

“Pancakes. Some Instagram famous pancakes.” He took out the brown boxes. “Oliver recommended it.”

Clary gasped when she opened the box. “Oh, I’ve seen this. The super thick and fluffy pancakes.” She lifted the box and gave it a shake, and the pancakes wobbled. “Cute.”

Seth grinned. “You’re easily amused.”

“It’s important to find joy in the little things.”

“Like a rainy morning.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh, yes.” She drew a deep breath. “I love rainy mornings—especially rainy Saturday mornings. What a gift to have a snuggly sweater and a warm drink.” She grinned. “Thanks for the sweater.”

He nodded, holding onto the edge of a squarish white bag. “I bought you something else.” His smile faded.

“That’s not a mannequin with a slashed-up face, is it?”

His brows twitched. “No, of course not.” He took out a small bouquet of pink roses, but he didn’t hand it to her.

“Are those for me?”

“Yes.”

She chuckled. “Because you’re holding on to them like you bought them for yourself.”

He extended his arm. “I didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked.”

“These are nice.” She gave the flowers a sniff, then put the bouquet down. “Thanks for preparing all this.”

He nodded, then finally pulled out a chair to sit down. “And now the serious stuff.”

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