“But you don’t wear one.”
“No, I don’t need one.”
“So why do I?”
“Why are you arguing? You just admitted yourself that you need one.”
“Yeah, but if you don’t need one, then why do I?”
He sighed. “Because you’re the most important person in the world to me? Because if anything happened to you because you were on this hog, something that could have been minimal if you’d worn a helmet, I would never ever forgive myself.”
She let out a whoosh of breath at the heartfelt earnestness in his tone and that fleeting agonized glance that swept across his face as he spoke. “Oh.” She had no words that could convey how deeply touched she was—had no rebuttal whatsoever.
“Yeah. Oh. It’s a minimal safety precaution. I should have thought of it the day I came to you, but my head was on other things.”
