Oh, and she snuggles her tiny Barrayaran. And makes music and has groats for breakfast roughly every other day.
Setting a date for a groat-related wedding as opposed to a groat-related breakfast is a little complicated, but they are formally, as it were, engaged.
And then one morning in the middle of executing a so-far-flawless switchback cascade, he mentions semi-offhandedly, "I've scheduled my leg bone replacement surgery for next week. Wish me luck, eh?"
"Depending on complications - I could be a few days flat on my back in the hospital and then a week or so at home strongly disinclined to walk; or a week of the one and up to a couple months of the other. I'm guessing somewhere in between."
"Are you going to get a float-chair or shall I anticipate carrying you from place to place?"
"You're welcome to carry me around the house as much as you like. I confess I was anticipating shuffling around grumpily on my own unhappy feet—stomping being strictly off-limits, you see. "
"I guess I'm still not used to having a... porter." Braid braid braid. "Have I mentioned recently that I love your hair?"
"...I love you too," says Miles, unutterably pleased. "I will hug you in a few minutes when I reach my next stopping point."
"Truuuue. Don't tempt me, this one's going perfectly so far and I want to finish it."
"I love you too. It occurred to me last night that you were probably doing that 'waiting indefinitely for me to bring it up' thing."
"Er - it was more a case of waiting until later, but 'later' was imprecisely defined."
"What is visitation going to be like when you're in the hospital for whatever amount of time?"
"Um - I'm not really sure what the deal is from your end. Talk to Mother," he advises. "She has practice."