The morning sunlight seeped through the sheer curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the room. The warmth nudged Erin from sleep, her lashes fluttering open slowly as she blinked against the brightness. A soft grogginess clung to her mind, but something else—something strange—stirred in her awareness.
She wasn't alone.
Her brows furrowed slightly, and she shifted her gaze to the side, only to freeze in place.
Xander was there.
Sitting quietly on the chair beside her bed, legs crossed at the ankles, one hand propped under his chin and the other holding a book he clearly hadn't been reading. He looked oddly at peace, even though the slight crease between his brows told her his thoughts were far from still. His dark eyes, however, were locked onto her—calm, steady, unreadable.
She was so stunned that she almost missed it when he spoke first.
"Good morning."
Erin blinked, hard.
Had he just… greeted her first?
It took a full second before her lips moved. "Uh… morning."
He tilted his head, barely, almost like he was trying to confirm something in her expression. If he noticed her surprise, he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he leaned back and closed the book with a soft thud, resting it on the side table.
"I spoke to the doctor," he said, his tone casual but firm. "You're only allowed out of bed for one thing."
She blinked again, still not fully following.
"The bathroom," he clarified, one brow raised with dry emphasis. "Everything else—you'll be in bed."
"What?" she asked, grogginess fading quickly. "That's a bit excessive, don't you think?"
He gave her a look. "You twisted your ankle. If it swells again, you'll be limping through that gala in three days. I told you—you're not doing that beside me."
"So this is about appearances?" she muttered.
"It's about you not aggravating an injury, but believe what you want." He stood and smoothed out the crease in his shirt, then glanced at her with a faint shrug. "Doctor's orders."
Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.
"You can go to the bathroom now," he added. "Breakfast will be served when you're back. So freshen up. Quickly."
He turned toward the door, but not before she caught the brief flicker of something behind his eyes. Not annoyance. Not mockery. Just something… softer. Something she wasn't used to seeing in him, and definitely not directed at her.
Still stunned by the greeting and the unsolicited attentiveness, she climbed out of bed and limped toward the bathroom slowly. His eyes followed her just long enough to confirm she was managing, but he made no move to help.
Not yet.
When she closed the bathroom door behind her, Xander remained where he stood for a few moments, then let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Something was changing. And he didn't know what the hell to do with it.
When Erin returned from the bathroom, still drying her damp hands with a towel, her eyes flicked across the room. Her steps—limping but determined—didn't turn toward the bed. Instead, she moved toward the dresser near the window.
Xander, sitting at the edge of the bed, caught the shift instantly. "Where are you going?"
She paused without looking at him. "To get the hairdryer," she said simply, pointing toward the small cabinet.
Xander narrowed his eyes, then stood up with a sigh. "I'll get it."
Before she could react, he strode over, effortlessly scooped her up into his arms, and carried her back to the bed.
"Hey—" she started, her eyes widening, but he ignored her weak protest and gently lowered her down onto the pillows.
"I said you're not allowed to walk today," he reminded her. "Don't make me repeat myself."
Before she could argue further, he turned back, grabbed the hairdryer, and returned to her side. She expected him to hand it to her—but instead, he plugged it in and stood behind her.
Erin stiffened.
"You don't have to—" she began.
But the quiet hum of the dryer cut off her words, followed by a surprisingly gentle breeze on her scalp. His fingers combed through her hair with deliberate care, separating and smoothing each damp strand.
It was… unexpected.
She sat frozen, the warmth of the air fusing with the heat rising to her cheeks. Xander wasn't looking at her reflection in the mirror. His attention was on her hair, steady and composed, like this was just another task—no different from flipping through papers or giving orders.
Except it wasn't. Not to her.
When he finally turned the dryer off, her hair was soft, slightly tousled, and completely dry. He set the dryer aside wordlessly and picked up the tray on the table nearby.
Erin blinked.
"Wait, are you… going to feed me now?" she asked incredulously
"I was going to," Xander replied without flinching.
"You're not serious."
But before he could respond, she snatched the bowl from his hands with surprising speed and stubbornness, plopping it into her lap and digging into the food.
He looked faintly amused as she took a big bite, chewing like a woman on a mission.
After she was done, she set the bowl aside and looked at him warily. "Why are you doing all this?"
His brows lifted, puzzled. "Doing what?"
She gestured vaguely. "The whole—hair drying, feeding, picking-me-up-like-a-fragile-pot thing. You've never acted like this before. Is it… is it because I saved you the other day?"
Xander's expression shifted—less amused now, more serious. "No," he said, after a beat. "Even if you hadn't done anything… if you were injured, I'd still take care of you."
Erin opened her mouth but couldn't find the right response. Her throat felt dry. The earnestness in his tone—it caught her off guard. She thought he'd make a joke. Brush it off. But he didn't.
Instead, he meant it.
And for the first time, she didn't know what to say back.
The rest of the morning passed in silence, filled only by the sound of pages flipping as Xander read beside her. Erin, meanwhile, stared at the ceiling and contemplated the swirling mess of thoughts in her head. He was acting weird. Too attentive. Too… real.
By the time the sun had climbed high into the sky and cast a soft glow across the bed, Erin felt like she might actually explode from sheer boredom.
She shifted under the blanket.
Then sat up.
Then peeked at the door.
Xander's voice cut through the silence. "Where do you think you're going?"
She froze like a child caught sneaking cookies.
"I want to go out," she said, turning to face him. "Get some fresh air. I'm going stir-crazy in here."
"You're not supposed to walk on your leg yet," he replied, eyes narrowed.
"I don't care if my foot turns into dust," she muttered. "I'm going."
He stared at her. She braced herself for the lecture.
Instead, he stood up, walked over to her side, and before she could flinch—scooped her up into his arms again.
Erin opened her mouth to protest but then snapped it shut. If she fought, he might change his mind and throw her back in bed. And anything, anything, was better than being stuck in that room another minute.
So she stayed quiet.
She told herself she was only keeping still for strategic reasons, not because she liked being held. Certainly not because she liked the way his arms felt around her or the quiet steadiness in his gait.
The garden was cooler than she expected. Fresh air rolled through the trees, crisp with the faint scent of damp earth and blooming flowers. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance, and a soft splash echoed from the pond where a few animals had gathered.
Xander took her to the swing tied to the low branch of a tree overlooking the pond. The ropes were sturdy, and the seat was wide and wooden, built for comfort.
He lowered her down slowly, but even after she was seated, he didn't let go.
She looked up, puzzled. "You can put me down now."
But he didn't. Instead, he leaned in, burying his face in the crook of her neck. His arms circled around her gently, anchoring them both in place.
Erin's body stiffened in shock. Her first instinct was to ask what he was doing. Her second was to pull away.
She did neither.
Because part of her—traitorous, warm, and fluttering like butterfly wings—didn't want to.
So she stayed still.
And so did he.
They said nothing, just breathed in the quiet of the garden together. The swing creaked gently under them, swaying slightly, as if moved by the rhythm of their hearts instead of the breeze.
It was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
And Erin wasn't sure what scared her more—how easy it was to fall into that moment with him… or how much she didn't want it to end.