Page 51 of When in December

“You’re coming with me to get it checked out. You’re not going home right now.”

“I’m not going to the hospital.”

“What’s the big deal?”

Her eyes were already brimming with thick, heavy tears.

A moment ago, she had been standing here better than most guys when they were vaccinated to go overseas. Now, she was crying?

“I …”

I almost heard the petulantI don’t care what you say; I’m not going—like a child. Any concern I’d had over her tears disintegrated into a smirk.

“Don’t you dare smile at me right now.”

“I’m not smiling,” I told her.

“You are too,” she insisted. “I told you not to bother me and to leave me alone so that I could work.”

“And I can see that’s going well.”

“You’re a big asshole.”

“A big one?”

“Yes. You’re probably happy I got my hand sliced open,” she said.

“I am not.”

“Are too,” she argued. “Probably. Deep down.”

Well, I was starting to find this a little funny as well as frustrating.

“Or not so deep down,” she mumbled.

We stood out in the snow. Her legs started to shake. Who knew if it was from the cold or blood loss?

I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be inflexible.”

She gasped as if I’d hit a nerve. “I’minflexible?”

“Right now, yeah. What’s it going to take?” I made my way over to my truck. I pulled the passenger door open and waved a hand to get inside. “Want me to promise to be cheerier so you’llget in and stop bleeding all over my driveway? Or do I need to get a tourniquet out here?”

Poppy blanched. “It’s not that bad.”

“I was joking.”

“Well, it wasn’t funny.” She bit her lip.

“It was kind of funny. Come on. Into the car, or it’s high and tight. Then, you probably won’t even have to lose your hand.” I swung my hand toward the passenger seat once more. “Let’s go.”

“Stop it.”

“I’ll get you food on the way back if you’re good. But we aren’t talking about this anymore.”

“You think that’s what it will take? You getting me food?” She scoffed as if the entire idea was crazy.

This whole thing was crazy, so I didn’t think I was far off.

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