Quin had been assured by almost every woman around him that Mari's cold was nothing to worry about and he was not about to argue with Laurel Potts on a manner like infants. She would know. It seemed to be wearing on Dahlia however, and though he had tried to take a turn getting her to sleep, Marigold wasn't having it, preferring her mama's warmth to his and so Quin had slunk off to the kitchen, but that was clean, thanks to Mrs. Hopkins and now he felt utterly useless.

He was on the sofa with the newspaper when Dahlia resurfaced, looking weary and worn out, but still as beautiful as ever. "Well done," he whispered, afraid to speak louder, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of her head. He chuckled as she requested cocoa. "I will happily make you some if you like, I think I just need to heat it up." But that would mean moving, so he wanted to be sure.