She quirked an eyebrow as she assessed the danger to his face. "You're hurt, and you're tired. Come on."
Harper led him by the hand to the bathroom, where she ran warm water and began helping him clean up his face.
"I don't need you to fuss over me."
"Yes, you do. It's my job now. Sorry."
He laughed and then winced at the pain in his side.
"What's wrong? Why are you grabbing your ribs? Do we need to take you to the ER?"
He scoffed. "Yeah, right. Do I look like I have ER health coverage?"
Harper looked at him as if she wanted to cry and then became angry. She muttered about the injustice of medical bills and a broken health care system, all the while cleaning up his face.
Other than his mother, nobody had ever fussed over Dash. And ever since he'd started working at Crow Bar and begun arriving home after his shifts with regular bumps, bruises, and bloody noses, he'd avoided allowing Mrs. Fitzgerald to see the state of him. He hadn't wanted her to worry; she had enough to worry about. The result was that now, with Harper hovering around, he found himself wanting to soak up the attention.
He grunted in agreement as she got herself riled out about income inequality. By the time she turned on the bath, she had solved the entire world's problems. "Off with your clothes and get in."
"I can bathe myself, Harper," he said.
She nodded. "Yes, you can, but I'm going to wash those funky clothes now; I don't care what you say about it. And then I'm going to feed you, and you're going to rest."
He smiled, even as it caused the bruises on his face to throb. He reached around her waist and pulled her to him, softly kissing between her breasts. "I didn't know you had a maternal streak," he said.
Harper tugged the man bun free and stroked his hair. "I didn't know I had it either. I guess you brought it out in me. Better take advantage of it while it lasts. Now get in the tub and give me your clothes."
Wearing nothing but a towel around his waist after his bath, Dash came into the kitchen, drawn by the smell of something delicious.
"I just realized something," he said. "I don't have any other clothes."
Harper, looking adorable wearing oven mitts and removing a pan of something from the oven, cast a glance over her shoulder. "The only thing you're doing today is sleeping, mister, so no worries."
He watched as she served up something steamy from the pan she'd just taken from the oven. When she turned and got a good look at him, she smirked. "I'm going to have to invest in bigger towels, aren't I?"
Dash looked down and assessed the situation. "I don't know; I think this is quite flattering for my thighs."
She laughed and handed him a bowl. "Baked oatmeal. If you don't like it, I have cereal."
The two of them sat together and ate their breakfast—Dash in a towel and Harper still in her pajamas. He thought it was cute that she'd driven home in a pair of pajamas with cupcakes all over them, underneath her parka.
After breakfast, Harper loaded his clothes in the dryer and insisted he go to bed.
He tugged her down to the bed with him. "Only if you stay with me."
She protested even as he held her against his aching side. "I have to clean up breakfast."
"Leave it. I won't be able to sleep without you anyway," he said.
"But you're hurt," she said, leaning away and gingerly touching his side, assessing a bruise on his ribcage.
"I can handle it. Now come here. You need to sleep, too. I know you stayed up all night talking to your moms about me."
She snorted into his shoulder and kissed his chest. "Narcissistic much?"
He chuckled sleepily. "That's me. You figured me out."
"Fine," she said, sitting up and grabbing the pile of blankets at the foot of the bed. She covered up them both and settled back in. "But no funny business. You need to sleep."
"I can do this, you know. I can just hold you and go to sleep without tearing your clothes off."
She murmured through a yawn and a stretch, "I don't know any guys who can sleep with a woman without copping a feel."
Dash reached over and cupped her breast through her pajama top. "I didn't say I wouldn't cop a feel. It's my new security blanket."
He knew Harper was on the verge of sleep because instead of arguing or calling him out, she mumbled, "Okay," while burrowing in closer to his side.
That nap was the best nap of his entire life.
Chapter Sixteen
Dash
The thing about dating Harper that Dash should have predicted was that he should never predict where they might go or what they might do.
"Don't you have to work tomorrow? Why would you want to go to work voluntarily on your day off?" Dash asked as Harper pulling up to the private parking lot below the Newcastle Dispatch building.
After the deepest, most satisfying sleep of his life, followed by some equally enjoyable sex with Harper, she had gotten that look in her eye. She'd asked if he wanted to go on a little adventure, and he knew better than to refuse his little firecracker.
"This is not work. This is fun," she said as they entered the elevator. "We're going to the archives."
If anybody else had suggested visiting archives would be a fun date, Dash might have had the urge to stick his thumb in his eye to get out of it. He barely understood what an archive was. But with Harper, he'd sit through middle school algebra again.
When they arrived on the sixth floor, Harper spoke to the attendant and requested to see the newspapers from a date back in the 1930s.
The attendant nodded and
