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Glass shatters. Lucy gasps. Liquid splatters.
Tim turns his head, then jumps up from the couch when the kitchen island blocks his view.
He steps from the carpet to the tile and hears the glass crunch under his boot.
“Stop!” He barks, when Lucy tries to move one bare foot forward. It’s a tone he hasn’t taken with Lucy since he was training her. But it’s fear he hasn’t felt since he was keeping vigil at her hospital bed, brushing desert sand away from the edges of her hair. “Watch out, there are little shards everywhere. “Don’t move your feet.”
Lucy lowers her foot carefully. Her eyes are wide, in a way they weren’t before Tim shouted at her.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have -”
“No, it’s alright, you were just trying to keep me from stepping -”
“I still shouldn’t have yelled. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I know.” Her expression softens, a wry smile breaking across her face. “Besides, it’s not like you’ll give me a blue page for a broken measuring cup.”
“No,” Tim chuckles. “Maybe some takeout, so you don’t have to finish cooking. Did anything land in the food?”
“I don’t think so.” Lucy leans forward, trying to see the dish on the countertop. “It slipped out of my hands on the way from the sink.”
“That’s OK, it happens.” Tim steps back and crouches down to size up the mess.
There’s glass all over the kitchen floor. Most of the cup landed in a few big chunks, but he can see dozens of smaller shards and a fine dusting of sharp-edged powder littering the tiles.
He stands back up. “Hang on, I’ve got an idea. Don’t. Move.”
“Tim?” Lucy calls after him as he darts into the bedroom. “Tim, what are you doing?”
He comes back with his spare boots, which had been tossed in the corner of Lucy’s closet when they realized how many nights he was spending in her bed.
“Here.” He sets them down a couple of feet from Lucy, where the shards start to dissipate a little bit and holds his hand out for her to take. “Step into them. Mine are looser than yours, so you should be able to get it without pulling them on.”
Lucy grips his hand tightly, leaning her weight into him as she steps forward slowly and points her foot into the first boot. He holds her up as she sinks into it, then as she steps into the other one.
“Wow, these suck without socks.” Lucy laughs.
“You really wanted to try balancing in broken glass long enough to put socks on?” She rolls her eyes at him, but doesn’t let go of his hand. “Just wear them over to the carpet. I’ll clean up.”
“Tim, you don’t have to.”
“I know. But you’ve got to figure out what you want for dinner, now that we’re not finishing the casserole tonight. Pick something and put it on my card.”
“There’s not any glass in it,” she protests.
“I trust you. But no one needs to be walking through here until I’ve swept a few times. Oh, text Tam and let her know. See if she wants food too.”
“Yeah, alright, fine.” Lucy reaches for his phone. “How about the Ethiopian place?”
“Sounds good.” Tim pulls the broom from the kitchen closet, and a fresh trash bag from under the sink. He starts with the biggest pieces, working carefully through the mess. “As long as they promise not to break any glass in the food.”