Chapter 19
MILES
This isn’t how I planned to spend my day off from the firehouse, but honestly I’d rather be here than sitting alone at my place.
Carter told me he was busy so hanging out with him isn’t an option and Coop is on duty like he normally is.
I shouldn’t have been as panicked as I was when I made it to her office and discovered the lobby door was locked.
It’s not like she’s my girlfriend or anything.
I mean, shit, the last time I brought up being anything more she completely shut me down.
‘There aren’t any feelings there,’ she said sitting across from me in her office.
Then why did she get so fussy last week in the kitchen.
And call me crazy but I don’t think you blush so much around someone you don’t have feelings for.
I could respect her desire to keep things professional but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to step in and offer my help when she clearly needs it.
And the way I found her passed out on her bathroom floor told me she absolutely needs it today.
I crack the door to her bedroom open a few minutes after leaving her in bed to check and make sure she’s okay.
Not surprisingly at all, she’s asleep. Eyes soft with a hand draped over herself, blonde hair neatly tucked away.
Closing the door as softly as I can, I pull out my phone and make a phone call.
“Hello?”
“Willow, hey.”
“Hey, Miles, what’s up? You okay? You hardly ever call me.”
I hardly ever call her because just like everyone else in our family, she’s also always working and I don’t want to bother her.
Willow has wanted to be a nurse for as long as I’ve known her.
She’s a natural born leader, charming, and funny as hell.
She could get along with a telephone pole if she needed to which is why she’s so good at what she does.
Not even the most closed off person could be unkind to her.
“Are you busy? I don’t want to interrupt anything. I assume you’re at the hospital,” I say, keeping my voice low. I don’t want to wake Hanna up or let her hear my conversation.
“I’m on my morning break. What’s up?” I hear her take a crunch of something and assume she’s eating. The girl usually works twelve hour shifts and eats when she can because most times she’s too busy to even do that.
“What’s the best way to take care of someone who has the flu? I’m assuming liquids and food when they can handle it, but do I need to do anything else? What if they’ve been throwing up, do I need to do anything for that?”
The questions come rushing out of me. Sure, I understand first aid and critical care in case of an emergency, but the way Hanna is looking has me worried there’s something more going on with her than she thinks.
“Who has the flu? Someone at the firehouse?”
“It doesn’t matter who, just tell me some nursey thing I can do to make them feel better.”
“Not until you tell me who you’re trying to make feel better,” she challenges, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
“I’m going to hang up if you don’t tell me,” I threaten.
“Why won’t you tell me who it is?” The pitch of her voice continues to rise. “Oh my god, are you with a girl? Is that why you’re being so squirrely? Who is it?”
She’s nearly shouting over the phone now. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I huff out a sigh. “Goodbye, Willow.”
“Wait, wait, wait—” she urges over the line, catching me before I end the call. “Fine. Don’t tell me who it is. If it really is the flu, you’re going to want to make sure they stay hydrated. You’re also going to want to get some over the counter meds to help with the symptoms.”
“Liquids, over the counter meds. Okay, I can do that,” I repeat.
“It is flu season, so that might be it, but it might also be a bug. We’ve had a couple cases of dehydration come in from people who showed signs of the flu, but they recovered after two or three days.” I nod to myself as she explains.
“Noted. Okay, cool, thanks Willow, I appreciate it.”
“Of course, if you need anything else just text me. Oh”—she cuts away as if someone is talking to her—“I gotta go. Emergency just rolled in. Kid shoved a marble up his nose and now it’s stuck. I love my job,” she chirps and then she’s gone.
I set my phone on the counter and look around her place.
She lives in an apartment that’s slightly bigger than mine.
It’s around the corner from her office which made getting here a breeze.
It’s obvious she lives alone since one room is her bedroom and the other looks like it’s a mix of an office and a space for her to workout.
Walking around, I look at the framed images of her and who I assume is her family.
There’s one with her and the woman I saw her with at the coffee shop the night after her drunken serenade.
Rae, I think is what I remember her saying her name is.
I smile at the memory of the night when it comes back to me. How carefree she was. The way she smiled when she looked at me. Even if it was a ‘drunken mistake’ like she claims it was, I still love the way she called me cute as she looked at me through the car window before her ride took her home.
Knowing she’ll probably be asleep for a while, I try to come up with something to do.
I have no intentions of leaving her here alone while she’s as sick as she is.
The last thing I want to have happen is for her to get worse and try to tough it out on her own.
Looking around, I spot the kitchen and an idea comes to my head.
Grabbing my phone, I send off a text and quickly get a reply.
Hey, mama. Can you send me your chicken noodle soup recipe? The one you used to make for Carter and I when we were sick?
Of course I can. Are you okay? Are you sick?
No, not me. Just a friend I’m taking care of.
A friend from the firehouse? I thought you were off today.
I am, and no it’s not someone from the firehouse. She’s a different friend.
Ohh, it's a *she*. I understand now.
Here’s the recipe but just so you know, I add a little heavy cream into it to make it thicker. Tastes better that way if you ask me.
Thank you mama.
I love you.
Of course, my son. I love you too.
And Miles?
Yeah?
You’re a very good man. Be kind to this girl, friend or more than a friend. If you don’t, I’ll kick your ass and have the southern spirits haunt you for the rest of your days.
I chuckle at her message and start to look around her kitchen for the proper ingredients.
Yes, ma’am.
A couple hours and one grocery delivery later, I’m stirring fresh soup on the stovetop.
For a grown adult, this girl has nothing in her pantry.
I had to order almost every ingredient the recipe calls for because she doesn’t have more than stale bread and a few spare crackers to eat around here.
Her apartment smells amazing as the warm smell of broth, fresh veggies, and chicken fill the space.
I made everything from scratch like I prefer to do and enjoyed getting lost in the process.
I’m about to go and check on her when the door to her bedroom opens and she steps out, rubbing her eyes and pushing her matted hair out of her face.
“What’s that smell?” The sound of her tired voice makes my insides do a flip.
“Soup. I hope it’s not upsetting your stomach.” I glance up and give her a hesitant look. I didn’t think about how the smell of it might do more harm than good.
“No, it smells amazing,” she responds, taking several steps closer to where I’m standing in the kitchen.
I clear my throat when I see that her pajama shorts have ridden a little higher than before, putting her legs on full display.
She’s wearing an oversized graphic tee and crossing her arms over her chest, still half asleep. “Did you make this?”
“I sure did,” I confirm. “It’s my mom’s recipe. She always made it for my brother and me when we were sick.”
“I didn’t know you cook.” She glances up at me with a tired smile before leaning over the pot of hot soup. She inhales deeply and hums in pleasure.
“Oh, I cook. You’re looking at the best cook in all of Firehouse Nine. People come in on their days off when they know it’s my turn on kitchen duty. We take turns, keeps things fair. You know.” I shrug.
“I do now,” she replies, lifting a brow at me. “But where’d you get the stuff to make it? I don’t keep a lot of food in the house.”
“Oh, trust me, I noticed.” I chuckle and move to the other side of the counter to grab the grocery bag off the barstool. “I ordered what I needed. I also got you some Ibuprofun, cold and flu medicine, and a giant thing of Gatorade. I hope the blue flavor is okay.”
I look back at her after pulling each thing out of the bag one at a time and setting them on the counter for her.
She’s smiling at me, wider than before, and I want nothing more than to pull her into my chest and hold her close.
Instead, I take a few steps around the counter and stop a few inches outside of her personal space.
“Thank you, Miles, really. For all of this. For coming over, for making me soup, buying me meds. I didn’t even expect you to stay after helping me back into bed. The fact that you did all of this is…” she pauses, trying to find the right words, “so kind.”
A piece of hair has fallen out of its spot behind her ear and I reach across to tuck it away again. My fingers linger on her cheek for a moment longer than they should. “Like I said before, I show up for the people who matter to me. You matter to me, doc.”
Glancing down at her feet, she pulls her face away from my touch and lets out an airy laugh. “I’m going to go grab my glasses and change. Have a bowl of soup with me?”