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“Not unless you want to be,” he said.

Exhaling, I relaxed my muscles, rolling the rest of the way to my back. I winced at my sore rear end, rubbing my wrist with the fingers of my other hand. My wrist didn’t really hurt, not like other parts of my body, and even those, I didn’t really mind.

“No.” I winced as I adjusted my body. “Not in the slightest.”

He looked at me directly.

“Good,” he said, blunt.

From the way he said it, and the clicking sound he made under his breath after he spoke, I could tell he meant it.

The anger emanating off his light didn’t feel aimed at me. The main emotion he continued to aim at me felt like caution. He looked at me almost like he didn’t know me, or maybe like he wasn’t sure whether he knew me or not––or maybe like he wasn’t sure which version of me he would be getting after last night.

“What about you?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“No,” he said only.

I could tell there was more to that answer, both from his light and from the slight hesitation after he said it. When he continued to avoid my eyes, I let him drop it.

I smelled coffee.

An instant later, I also smelled food.

As soon as that much penetrated my awareness, my stomach made urgent little gurgling sounds. I looked past him, to the tray he’d left on the desk.

“Is that for me?” I asked.

“Mostly,” he said.

I nodded, still looking over the contents of the tray.

I felt him take the opportunity to look at me.

I saw a bowl of what looked like blueberries. Next to that, a smaller bowl of what had to be yogurt, probably made of goat milk, considering how many of those we had on board. As far as I knew, we still had only one cow, a chubby black Holstein everyone called “Bessie,” originally as a joke, but the name kind of stuck.

A small pitcher of milk or cream sat next to a tall, dark carafe of what I hoped was coffee. Hopefully espresso-type coffee, but I didn’t want to be greedy.

I knew the cream probably came from a goat, as well, but I didn’t mind that, either, since I was pretty used to it by now.

Toast sat on a plate next to that, along with eggs and what looked like bacon but was probably some kind of substitute, given the rarity of real meat on the ship. I even saw a glass of orange juice, probably left over from the frozen stuff we had.

“Wow.” I propped my upper body up on my elbows. “You went all out.”

He stepped closer to me, his expression still unmoving.

I watched his face as he leaned toward me. For some reason, I wasn’t really unnerved by that strange caution I felt on him, but I couldn’t help noticing it. He slid a hand into my hair, studying my eyes. He didn’t move for a few seconds as he continued to caress my hair back from my face, sliding his fingers deeper into it behind my head and massaging the back of my skull.

“Do you feel okay?” he asked, his voice back to gruff.

I nodded, looking up as he touched my face with his other hand.

I felt his light merge into mine, more the longer he stood there, like he couldn’t help himself. When I didn’t keep him out, he sighed, and I felt that caution in his light melt into something closer to relief.

He moved away seconds later, but only long enough to pick up the tray and bring it back to the bed. Once he stood over me, he motioned with his fingers for me to move, to give him space to put it down. He waited while I complied.

Once I’d scootched back far enough, he set the tray right on the mattress, on the side nearest to the night table. Then he climbed over it and me, to lay behind me so he wouldn’t be between me and the food.