"Is that what Sunday dinners are about? Keeping the legacy alive?"
"Partly." He traced a pattern in spilled sugar on the table. "It's also about making sure none of us disappear into the job like Dad did. Ma knows the signs—pushing too hard, training too much, and taking too many risks."
"Is that why she watches you so carefully?"
His finger paused. "You noticed that?"
"I notice everything about you." The admission slipped out before I could stop it.
"Your arms are shaking," Marcus observed, watching me struggle to lift my cup.
"Acute muscle fatigue from unaccustomed exercise." I flexed my fingers, fascinated by the unfamiliar tremor. "The repeated motion of the swimming strokes caused micro-tears in—"
"James." His foot nudged mine under the table. "You can say you're sore."
"I'm analyzing the physiological response."
"You're deflecting." He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You did well today. Better than most people manage their second time in the water."
Heat crawled up my neck. "I flailed like a drunk octopus."
"You trusted me. That's not nothing."
The sincerity in his tone set off a wave of warmth spreading across my chest. "Yes, well. Your teaching technique is surprisingly effective."
"Surprisingly?" An eyebrow lifted. "I'll have you know I'm excellent at handling difficult cases."
"Is that what I am? A difficult case?"
"More like..." He paused, considering. "A challenge worth taking on."
I looked up to find him watching me with an intensity that made my pulse jump. "Is that why you suggested swimming lessons? As a challenge?"
"No." He reached across the table, his fingers brushing mine where they rested on my coffee cup. "I suggested them because you needed to face the water. And because I wanted to be the one helping you do it."
The casual intimacy of his touch sent an electrical charge up my arm. "Why?"
"Because you analyze everything except what scares you most." His thumb traced small circles on my wrist. "And because I like watching you discover you're stronger than you think."
"That's..." I swallowed hard. "Very insightful for 6:30 AM."
His laugh was warm and rich. "I have my moments. Speaking of analysis—you never finished telling me about the trace evidence Sarah found."
"Are we changing the subject?"
"Maintaining professional balance." His fingers didn't leave my wrist. "Though I'd rather hear about your academy story. The one you started to tell me yesterday at the station before the call came in."
"About the fire science seminar?"
"Where you corrected the instructor on flame propagation patterns." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "I bet that went over well."
"Actually..." I found myself sharing the story of my first attempt at teaching fire behavior, complete with the chaos that ensued when my demonstration accidentally set off the sprinkler system.
Marcus listened, really listened, in that way he had of making everything else fade into background noise. His thumb continued its absent pattern on my wrist while I described the dean's face when he found his antique desk soaked.
"So that's why you switched to theoretical research?" he asked when I finished.
"Partly. My practical demonstrations as an instructor proved hazardous to university property."
