“Daddy used to make me warm milk,” Bette said once she’d realized what I was doing, “when I couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah.” I leaned my elbows on the counter. “I know.”

We waited in comfortable silence for the milk to heat up. Just the idea of it seemed to have a placebo effect on Bette as she relaxed significantly. I relaxed a little, too. She needed me. That was okay for now.

“I take it Tina finally accepted your apology,” I said.

She nodded. “She was trying to see how serious I was about getting her back.”

“Good tactic,” I commented. Bette smiled a little. “Risky, though; you might’ve just given up after the first fifty or so times.”

The thought seemed to vex Bette greatly and she got lost in her thoughts for a little while. “Maybe she trusted that I wouldn’t give up.”

“Maybe.”

“Alice,” she said suddenly. “I told Tina-she wants to get to know you better. So I told her I’d invite you to dinner tomorrow. At my place. Tina’s cooking.”

“Ah, she cooks, then?” I muttered.

Bette shrugged.

I chewed my lip. “I don’t know, Bette.”

“You should get to know her. You’ll like her.”

Accepting that Bette was with someone else was one thing. I didn’t know if I could stand spending an entire evening with the woman who turned Bette Porter into an illogical, over-caffeinated, knocking-on-my-door-at-two-in-the-morning mess.

I shook my head. “I have plans.” I turned to take the milk off the stove, setting the pot onto a cool burner.

As I found a coffee mug in one of the cabinets, Bette said, “Another time.”

“Sure.”

“I want you to…” She paused. “You’re just the most important people to me,” she said simply.

I smiled at her and I felt strange. The mug slipped out of my hand and fell on the floor, breaking into a bunch of pieces.

“Ah, *****,” I muttered, bending down to clean them up. Bette was off of the stool quickly, crouching beside me.

“I got it,” she said.

I snorted, straightening up. “I think I might’ve stolen that mug from The Planet, so I’m probably just being punished-”

“*****,” Bette cursed. She dropped the jagged piece of broken mug she’d picked up and stood, wincing. Her hand was bleeding. “Ow. *****.”

“Okay, it’s okay, come on.” I tugged her non-bleeding hand and led her into the bathroom. She was making all these ridiculous faces. Sometimes she’s kind of a baby.

“Don’t get blood on your jeans; they must have cost a fortune,” I quipped. Bette glared at me as I directed her to run her hand under cold water.

“Funny,” she mumbled.

I got the First Aid out from the cabinet and made her sit on the edge of the bathtub. She complied after a minute and I knelt between her legs, taking a look at her hand.

“I didn’t know you were a nurse,” she said dryly.

“Don’t make me bring up the nurse costume,” I teased her.

“It’s better if you don’t.”

“All right.” It was a long gash, but it wasn’t very deep. “You’ll survive. I hope. I’ll put on this-what the ***** is this stuff-Neo-uh-Neosporin *****.”

Bette jerked her hand away. “I’ll do it.”

I shrugged. “It’s my First Aid kit.” She stared at me. “Look,” I said softly. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”

It took a little while, but she gave me her hand back, and I cleaned it up.

“You’re good at it,” she admitted. I wasn’t sure if she meant putting a band-aid on her hand or taking care of her in general, but I smiled anyway.

“I have to be good at something.”

Bette grinned. It made me feel good.

“I’ll go,” I told her, finishing up and patting her hand. “To dinner.”

She looked relieved. “You will?”

I’d give it a try, I figured. “Sure.”

“Okay.” She stood. The bathroom was small and cramped and being in her proximity was both familiar and unusual at the same time. “Sixish,” she said.

“I’ll be there.”