"Yes. No. It doesn't matter. I still have a valid point."
He ruffled my hair, then returned to his pancakes.
I could see arguing with him wasn't going to work. Somehow, I'd have to keep my wits about me enough to tell him no when he got started again, but how could I do that if he kept jumping me when I was asleep? By the time I was awake enough to think, it was already too late because by then I didn't want to say no.
He took the bacon out of the microwave, divided it between our plates, then dished out the buttery pancakes. Before sitting down, he freshened our cups of coffee, and also got a glass of water for me and set out the antibiotic and a pain pill.
I took both pills. Though my arm felt better, I wanted to stay ahead of the pain.
"What am I doing today?" I asked as I dug into breakfast. "Staying here while you go to work?"
"Nope. Not until you can use that arm. I'm taking you to my mother's house. I've already called her."
"Cool." I liked his mother, and I really wanted to see the inside of that giant Victorian she lived in. "I assume I can talk to my family whenever I want, right?"
"I don't see why not. You just can't go see them, and I don't want them coming to see you, either, because they could lead this guy straight to you."
"I don't see why y'all are having such a hard time finding out who he is. He has to be a boyfriend."
"Don't tell me how to do my job," he warned. "She didn't have an exclusive relationship going on. We've checked out the guys she was dating, and they're clear. There are some other angles we're exploring."
"It wasn't drugs, or anything like that." I ignored his rude comment about telling him how to do his job.
He looked up. "How do you figure?"
"She belonged to Great Bods, remember? She didn't have any of the signs, and she was in good shape. Not great; she couldn't have done a backflip if her life had depended on it, but she wasn't a druggie, either. It has to be a boyfriend. She came on to all the guys, so I figure it's a jealousy thing. I can talk to my employees, find out if they noticed anything-"
"No. Stay out of it. That's an order. We've already interviewed all your employees."
Insulted that he seemed to be totally dismissing my views on the subject, I finished eating in silence. Typical man, he didn't like that either.
"Stop sulking."
"I'm not sulking. Realizing that there's no point in talking is not the same as sulking."
The dryer dinged, and I got my clothes out while he cleaned up the table. "Go on upstairs," he said. "I'll be up in a minute to help you get dressed."
He came up while I was brushing my teeth again, because pancakes make my teeth feel sticky, and he stood beside me at the vanity, using the other basin while he did the same. Brushing our teeth together made me feel strange. That was something married people did. I wondered if one day I'd do all my tooth-brushing here in this bathroom, or if some other woman would be standing in my place.
He crouched down and held my capri pants for me, and I balanced myself with one hand on his shoulder while I stepped into them. He zipped and buttoned, then eased his shirt off me and slipped my bra in place and hooked it.
My blouse was sleeveless, which was good, but the bandage was so big the armhole was just barely big enough. He had to tug the cloth across it, which had me wincing and mentally thanking Dr. MacDuff for the dope. He buttoned the tiny buttons that marched up the front of the blouse, then I sat on the bed and eased my feet into sandals. I continued to sit there, watching him as he dressed. The suit, the white dress shirt, the tie. The shoulder holster. The badge. The handcuffs clipped to the back of his belt. The cell phone clipped to the front. Oh, man. My heart was jumping like crazy, just watching him.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"No. You haven't put up my hair yet." I could have gone with it down, since I wasn't working out today, but I was still pissed at him.
"Okay." He got the brush, and I turned so he could gather my hair in a ponytail at the back of my head. When he had it all caught in one hand, he said, "What do I put around it?"
"A scrunchie."
"A whatie?"
"Scrunchie. Don't tell me you don't have a scrunchie."
"I don't even know what the hell a scrunchie is."
"It's what you use to hold up ponytails. Duh."
"I haven't worn a ponytail lately," he said drily. "Will a rubber band do?"
"No! Rubber bands break the hair. It has to be a scrunchie."
"Where do I get a scrunchie?"
"Look in my bag."
He was very still behind me. After a few seconds, without saying a word, he let go of my hair and went into the bathroom. Now that he couldn't see me, I grinned to myself.
"What the hell," he said about half a minute later, "does a scrunchie look like?"
"Like a big rubber band with cloth on it."
More silence. Finally he came out of the bathroom with my white scrunchie in his hand. "Is this it?"
I nodded.
He started the process of gathering my hair again.
"Put the scrunchie on your wrist," I directed. "Then you can just slide it off around the ponytail."
His thick wrist just about stretched my scrunchie to the limits, but he grasped the theory at once and got my hair in a decent ponytail without any more delay. I went into the bathroom and checked out the results. "That's good. I think I can go without earrings today, if that's all right with you."
He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "Thank you, Lord."