Polished by Alyssa Turner

crutches. “Right now I don’t know about you two, but I’m beat. I’m hitting the sack.”
    “I’ll be right there, sweetie,” Rory told him. “I just want to throw the dishes into the washer.”
    He dropped a kiss onto her lips and whispered, “I’m going to try to be awake when you get to bed, so don’t be long.”
    Rory tingled a little at his words. She’d give the kitchen a quick once-over and spend the rest of the night letting Spencer know how grateful she was to have him safe and sound in their bed. She nuzzled her face under his stubble, her jaw whispering against his neck. “I’ll be right there. Be ready for me.”
    “Don’t you worry about that.”
    He shuffled down the hall and Rory mused at his sudden vulnerability. She’d never seen him injured before, never known him to be anything but strong and fully capable. It was only a broken ankle, but the trauma of being stuck in that watery prison, especially for Spencer, would probably leave a scar. She busied herself with the dishes and didn’t notice that Jack was still wandering their living room until he spoke.
    “The purple nail polish…was that your idea?” He was holding a picture of her and Spencer up on the ridge. Having happened across another climber, they’d taken the rare opportunity to be photographed there together. She knew the picture well. It was one of her favorites: her standing on tiptoe planting a solid kiss to Spencer’s cheek while he stood with his arms folded on his chest, chin up like the king of the world.
    She nodded over her shoulder and returned to her dishes. “Yeah, it’s our thing. Silly little tradition.”
    “I noticed it when we were in the hospital after they put the cast on. I wanted to ask him about it, but…anyway, I get it now. It’s quaint.”
    “You won’t tell any of the guys in the crew, will you? Spencer would be mortified.”
    “I don’t tell anyone’s secrets,” he said, and walked a bit closer. Rory felt a rush of cool shimmer over her skin as he stood there appraising her. “Can you tell me where your washer and dryer are?”
    She pointed to the folding doors by the back entrance. “But you can really leave that for tomorrow. I’ll throw them in with our clothes; it’s really no bother.”
    “I’m not used to people taking care of me, at least not without paying them.”
    Rory started at his statement, whipping her hand to her hip. “I know you’re not suggesting—”
    “No, no. Ah, I’m an ass. No, what I meant was that it’s not every day that someone shows me kindness without wanting something in return.”
    Rory pursed her lips. He sounded so sad; she just wanted to give him a hug. “Jack Rothman, you are our guest and I mean to make sure you’re taken care of. That’s that.”
    He bowed at her with quirky drama and raised his head first on the way back up. The corkscrew grin on his face was all play, like a puppy waiting to fetch. That look was damn near irresistible.
    Rory shook her head and swiped a cloth over the counter, then hung it on the faucet to dry. “Well, that’s it for me. Good night, Jack.”
    He slipped into step behind her. “I’m heading off too. Thanks again, Rory. Tell Spencer I said good night.”
    “Will do,” she said at the door. “Oh, and I’m glad he wasn’t alone down there. It would have been much worse if he’d been alone. Just wanted you to know that I’m grateful for that.”
    “I would have rather skipped that part in my day where I was trapped in a pitch-black death hole, but yeah, I get what you’re saying. I’m glad I wasn’t alone too. Spencer is really a good guy. But of course you already knew that.”
    With a soft nod she slipped into the bedroom and closed the door. Spencer’s light but steady snores filtered through the sound of air-conditioning in the room. She placed herself carefully next to him so as not to wake him up and curled her body around his muscled frame. Sleep fell upon her without