Ellie stared at it.
“You don’t want it?”
“I had four.”
“I had three.”
“Yes.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“So?”
“So nothing.”
Ellie looked at the biscuit.
Jasper understood.
His face softened.
“Who counted?”
She looked away.
“People.”
“Idiots?”
“Mostly.”
He pushed the plate slightly closer.
“Then make it four.”
Ellie almost cried over a biscuit.
She hated that.
She ate it anyway.
Jasper noticed other things.
Ellie always tightened her apron before going outside.
She chose darker fabrics when strangers visited.
She stood behind chairs in rooms rather than in open spaces.
She apologized when she bumped furniture.
Once she moved sideways through a doorway unnecessarily.
Jasper watched.
The next day he removed the inner trim from that doorway.
Ellie noticed immediately.
“What happened?”
“Door was narrow.”
“It wasn’t.”
“It annoyed me.”
“You widened a doorway because it annoyed you?”
“Yes.”
She stared.
Jasper continued working.
Ellie placed both hands on her hips.
“Did you widen it for me?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m bad at it.”
“That’s true.”
He smiled.
Ellie touched the fresh-cut wood.
No one had ever altered a room to fit her.
They had always expected her to alter herself to fit rooms.
She said nothing.
Jasper did not make her.
Two weeks after Ellie arrived, Samuel left again.
This time the weather was clear.
Jasper could manage most daily tasks.
Ellie knew what that meant.
Her work was ending.
The thought arrived with unexpected weight.
She began packing medical supplies.
Jasper watched from the table.
“You leaving?”
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“Three days.”
His face became still.
“You decided.”
“I need to return to Copper Falls.”
“They fired you.”
“My things are there.”
“Samuel can bring them.”
“My life is there.”
Jasper looked away.
Ellie continued packing.
“My patients.”
“They fired you.”
“I know.”
“Then your patients aren’t your patients.”
“People still need care.”
His jaw tightened.
“Of course they do.”
Ellie stopped.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“You say nothing badly.”
Jasper stood.
He moved toward the window.
Ellie looked at his back.
“Jasper.”
“What?”
“Are you angry?”
“No.”
“You look angry.”
“I’m trying not to be selfish.”
The answer quieted her.
Ellie set down the bandages.
“What would selfish sound like?”
Jasper laughed without humor.
“Don’t ask.”
“I just did.”
He turned.
His blue eyes met hers.
“It would sound like me telling you not to go.”
Ellie’s heartbeat changed.
“Because you still need help?”
“No.”
“Because you’re afraid of being alone?”
Jasper said nothing.
Ellie looked down.
She misunderstood the silence.
Her chest tightened.
“You’ll manage.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You’ve lived alone for years.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll leave written instructions.”
“Ellie.”
“You need to clean the wound twice daily for another week.”
“Ellie.”
“And no heavy lifting.”