"Yeah, well." I lifted my hands and dropped them to my sides. "I'm fine, okay? You can go now." I turned away so he couldn't see me wince, and headed back to the couch.
"Leah," he said to my back. He followed me over, watching as I lowered myself down carefully.
If I didn't know better, I'd think he was worried. For the life of me, I couldn't think why. In spite of the look he gave me at the market that suggested he wanted me, he'd given me no reason to think he gave a shit about me one way or another.
"What do you need?" He sat down beside me, on the edge of the couch. "What is this?" He waved in the direction of my legs and feet.
"It's nothing you need to worry about," I said. "Please, just…go."
I leaned back gingerly, trying to keep the discomfort from my face but knowing I failed miserably.
"I'm not leaving you like this," he said. Much gentler than I would have expected of him, he knelt in front of me and picked up one of my feet. "Is this from standing up so long yesterday?" His hands were warm as he started to gently massage the ball of my foot and down to my toes.
I wanted to pull away, but it felt good. Too good. Instead, I sat back and let him work.
"Yes," I said finally. "I always get a flare-up after standing for too long."
He glanced up at me. "Someone would have brought a chair if you asked. Don't tell me: you didn't want to be a bother."
"Would you have asked?" I narrowed my eyes at him.
He hesitated for only a moment before admitting, "No, but I don't get swollen feet." He worked his way up to my ankle before lowering my foot and starting on the other one.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
"I didn't realise we were having an existential conversation." He carefully massaged each toe, one by one.
I snorted-laughed. "I mean here in my house," I said. "You were the one who knocked on the door, remember?"
"I was hoping to catch you in the shower," he said. "In case you were the kind of girl to answer the door naked."
"You're full of shit," I said. Was he actually worried about me?
"I figured you'd have an insult or two saved up. Wouldn't want to waste them," he said. "So, what have you got?"
"Nothing off the top of my head." I half-closed my eyes. My feet actually felt a little better, even if they were still swollen. "I'll think of something."
"Lie back," he told me.
My eyes snapped open. "I'm not going to?—"
Connor smirked. "Your legs are swollen. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure elevating them would help."
"Right." My hands to either side of me, I swivelled around to lift my legs and place them on the length of the couch.
"Good girl," he said softly.
I didn't expect the jolt of heat at his words, or the careful way he started to massage my legs, his hands gentle but thorough. Or the knowing smile he gave me as he went on working. Prick.
"What is this?" he asked. "Your knees are swollen too."
"Early rheumatoid arthritis," I whispered, not wanting to speak the name of the monster out loud. "It comes and goes."
"They say the same about me." He smirked.
"I'm sure you're just as painful." I smirked back.
"No doubt." He rubbed my knees for a few minutes before rising to his feet and heading deeper into the cottage.
