She wore jeans again today, and a blue long-sleeved t-shirt that hugged a little more closely than the yellow one of the day before. He held up the coffee pot. “I hope you don’t mind.” Her step faltered, and she jammed her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans. Then she shook her head. “Of course not. But do you think you should be doing so much?” Balancing on his crutches, he twisted to set the pot back on its pad. “I’m supposed to be fending for myself altogether, remember?” “And you really think you can do that?” she asked as he teetered. “It’s all a matter of practice.” He righted himself with a grin. “Now, how do you take your coffee?” “Just black, thanks.” He slid a cup across the counter and watched her perch on a stool, head bent and face hidden from him. He sighed. “Look, Grace, I’m not trying to be nosy, but—”
