Butterflies

The door opened on a soft hiss of hinges.

Naomi glanced up from the tray on her lap. She was sitting upright against the pillows, hair still damp from the sponge bath the nurse had given her, hospital gown gaping a little at one shoulder. She’d been scrolling idly through her phone but her thumb froze when she saw who came in.

Damon.

He filled the doorway in his black coat, one hand carrying a small overnight bag. His tie was gone, shirt sleeves rolled up. His eyes found hers immediately and softened.

But he looked way better than he did earlier that morning before she dozed off into a medical induced sleep. She had told him to go home, take a shower at least and maybe pack a few change of clothes for himself if he plans to spend every day with her at the hospital.

“You’re awake,” he said.

“I’ve been awake,” she replied. “You’re late.”

She gave him two hours to get done and be on his way back. She didn't want to be alone. Not when they were yet to find out who tried to kill her..

“I