When Nash opened his door to Rowan a week later, he took one look at her and asked, “Beer, hug, or chocolate?”
She winced. “All three?”
Poor baby. “That I can do.” He pulled her in, liking that she hesitated only a moment before resting her head against his chest. He wanted to get his mouth on her again, but that wasn’t what she needed just now, so he kept things G-rated and rubbed slow circles on the small of her back. “How’s our patient?”
“Cranky. Oh my God, so cranky. He’s worse than my partner’s toddler when she doesn’t get a nap. Not that I blame him. If I had to give up fat and salt, and wasn’t allowed to do anything, I’d be cranky, too. I made turkey burgers for dinner last night, and I thought he was going to throw it against the wall.”
Nash leaned back far enough to look down
