Her gaze lingers on me a second too long, her fingers still curled around the piece of toast, forgotten. The air between us stretches, something unspoken threading through it, tugging tight.

I should step back. Should say something to break whatever this is before it turns into something I can’t walk away from.

But I don’t.

Because there’s something about this woman that disarms me.

Confuses me.

Pulls me in before I have the sense to stop it.

I don’t know what to do with that.

She shifts slightly, adjusting in the oversized sweats, and it does something to me—something I can’t explain. It’s not just that she’s wearing my clothes. It’s the way she looks in them like she has no idea what it’s doing to me.

Like she has no clue that even after a night of barely keeping food down, after looking completely wrecked in the bathroom, she can still manage to throw me completely off my game.

I could leave. I should.

She swallows, her throat working, but she doesn’t pull away when I slide an arm under hers and help her to her feet.

She’s warm.

Her body leans into mine just enough for me to notice, just enough for me to feel the way her fingers press into my arm for balance.

I don’t let go.

Not when she finds her footing. Not when she exhales, slow and measured. Not even when I should, I just stay, maybe a second too long.

Long enough to notice the way her breath catches. The way her grip lingers, hesitant but there.

Enjoying it or testing a boundary I don’t quite understand. Maybe both.

Move, idiot, I order myself. That’s when I finally release her and grab a fresh toothbrush from the cabinet, rip it from the packaging, and press it into her hand. “Here.”

She blinks, surprised, then huffs out something that could almost be a laugh. “Are you always this prepared?”

I lean against the counter, arms crossed. “You’re not the first sick person I’ve taken care of.”

Her brows lift. “No?”

I shake my head. “You’re the easiest patient I’ve had so far.”

She snorts, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “That’s a low bar, Timberbridge.”

I smirk. “And yet, you still haven’t passed out on me.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. Just exhaustion and something else that I choose to ignore.

Once she’s done cleaning herself, I gesture toward the door. “Come on.”

She hesitates for a second, like she’s debating whether she should follow me or just collapse on the bathroom floor. Then, with a sigh, she steps forward.