Poppy lay asleep under the covers the next morning, her back facing Francis, her freckles scattered across her bare shoulders.
She hesitated before turning back to face him, pulling the blanket to her chin. "You'd tell me if it were me, right?" she asked quietly. "If I did something?"
He looked at her curiously, his eyes amused. "I just don't feel well, my love. I would tell you, though."
She frowned before reaching over, her warm fingers brushing across his forehead to take his temperature.
“Looks like it,” she said, giving him a small smile as her hand slipped down from his forehead to his jaw. “Just a small one.”