Faye Vaughn curled back up on the sofa, throwing in the towel.
Wyatt Hawthorne retrieved a blanket and draped it over her.
Faye Vaughn, intentionally picking a fight, complained, "I have a fever, and you're still covering me up like this? Are you trying to kill me with the heat?"
Wyatt Hawthorne arched a brow. "I was worried you'd be cold."
Faye Vaughn kicked the blanket off, her tone petulant. "You're just afraid my being alive is an eyesore."
She was being utterly unreasonable.
Wyatt Hawthorne didn't stoop to her level. Instead, he sat down beside her, looking amused, and touched her forehead. "Your fever's broken. You're not dying."
Faye Vaughn immediately latched onto his phrasing. "So, you're disappointed that I'm not going to die?"
Wyatt Hawthorne chuckled. "That's right. I'm very disappointed."
Faye Vaughn's eyes widened. "I knew it… You're angry with me, you blame me, and you resent me for ruining your affairs."
