“Good. It looks like it’s only a mild sprain.” She let out a relieved breath—not just because she didn’t want to see anyone get hurt but because she also didn’t want to get sued, something she knew from her own family that rich people loved to do, and there was no way with that fine of a bespoke topcoat that Nash Beckett didn’t have money. And unlike the rest of her family, her bank account was nowhere near healthy enough for her to get sued by someone with too much money and time on their hands. “You just need some ice, rest, and elevation, but if the pain gets worse, you’ll need to go see a doctor.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but he just grinned back at her, the dimples in both cheeks giving him a charming vibe instead of a smarmy one. Now that was a good trick. She made a mental note to give her satyr hero a dimple—only one, though, because two was a little overwhelming.

“Now to that cut,” she said as she picked up the damp washcloth.

Standing close and leaning over him a bit, she dabbed at the laceration, glad to see it wasn’t bleeding much anymore, which was amazing because she was late on trimming Sir Hiss’s nails and those babies were little knives right now.

“That’s a lot of books,” he said, referring to her stuffed bookshelves.

“All the better to read away the long, cold nights.”

Fine. Maybe three floor-to-ceiling bookshelves was a bit much, but she was a woman with an indie bookstore within walking distance and they welcomed well-behaved pets—which meant they made an exception for hers.

“You know,” Nash started in with that icepick of a know-it-all tone, “if you rearranged the books into alphabetical order, it would be easier to manage your collection.”

“Actually, I like them organized by color.” The bright rainbow of printed friends made her smile whenever she walked into the living room.

“But if you alphabetized them, it would be so much easier to find what book you’re looking for.” He winced a bit when she dabbed hydrogen peroxide on his cut. “And what about moving the couch so it’s not in front of the window but nearer the fireplace?”

Oh my God. Did the man not stop? She at least was starting to see why his mother felt so confident her son would know exactly how to help her fix her problem with her father’s will. Was there anything this guy didn’t think he knew the answer for?

“The dogs spend most of the day watching the neighborhood goings on from the back of the couch,” she said between clenched teeth as she used the washcloth again to clean up the hydrogen peroxide where it had run a bit down his forehead.