Then he looked at me, and his expression shifted. “What’s wrong?” His voice had taken on a tinge of concern. I shook my head. “It’s nothing.” “It’s not nothing.” He reached forward and touched my skin, just below my breastbone. “You’re clammy. You’ve had night chills. What was it? A dream?”
This was a poorly done edit. Didn’t he walk across the room to the crib? When did he walk back close enough to touch her? Or to see that she’s clammy?
