"Gonna shower," I said. "Feeling woozy."
"Sun, insufficient food, too much wine. Told ya," he observed.
"Uh huh. Olly?"
"Yeah?"
"Seriously, I think I need some help getting upstairs."
He was by my side immediately, concerned. "Shan, you OK?"
"Feeling light-headed. Just a bit, but don't particularly want to fall downstairs and bleed everywhere again."
"Once was enough, thanks," he grumped, and I laughed at the memory of my tumble at age seventeen and the drama it had orchestrated.
"It could be exciting. Think of the ambulance ride, the emergency room, the new and interesting people," I teased him.
"Can it, Shannon. Seriously, not funny."
"Spoilsport."
"Take my arm, you crazy wench," he said, exasperated but grinning in spite of it.
"You say the most flattering things," I laughed
