Fellow Patients
For the first few minutes, neither of us spoke.
The car moved through the rain. City lights broke across the window in blurred gold lines. The heater was on, but my fingers were still cold beneath the coat on my shoulders.
Not my coat.
Mr Quinn’s.
It smelled faintly of cedar and mint. Younger than Charles’s scent. Less controlled. Easier.
“Miss Bennet.”
I turned my head.
Mr Quinn was watching me with one elbow against the door, his smile ready before the situation deserved one.
“If you keep holding my coat like that,” he said, “I’ll start thinking it owes you money.”
My fingers loosened.
“Sorry.”
“That wasn’t a complaint. I’ve always wanted my clothes to be respected.”
“Mr Quinn, I’m not in the mood.”
“I noticed. That’s why I’m only operating at half strength.
