He popped his stitches. How could he have gone through the activities of the previous night stitches intact and manage to pop them sitting on the couch? Unless he was up doing stuff. That was possible, and worrisome. She told him she'd be there shortly, then hung up the phone. The shower had helped her center herself again. A good cry had helped as well and she allowed herself one shot of cream for good measure. The idea that Tim was hurt again was what really got her settled, though. Her affection for the man hadn't changed even with what she'd done and her newfound understanding that he was completely unavailable to her.
She showed up on his doorstep, a small medical bag in one hand, a box of homemade oatmeal cookies in the other, a Very Concerned expression on her face.
"I told you to relax, Tim," she chided softly when he let her in.
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