30. Tess
THIRTY
TESS
Driving while on speakerphone isn’t technically illegal. The way I’m barreling through town probably is, though. Thankfully, August wasn’t with me when Ian called a few minutes ago to let me know about the vomiting. My poker face didn’t even try.
“Did you give him the anti-nausea medication yet?” Forever grateful for the stash of emergency meds August’s endocrinologist suggested I keep on hand.
“I did.” It’s weird that Ian’s “in charge” voice can comfort me even when it’s disembodied in the car, right? “Numbers are still good. Luckily, this happened before lunch, so he doesn’t have extra insulin on board.”
He could have crashed straight into hypoglycemia if he couldn’t hold down food he already took extra insulin to accommodate for. He still could if it takes him too long to eat or drink anything. A shiver of worry floats up through my chest, but I force it back down. I have to keep a clear head and not get caught up in potential scary scenarios. Work the problem, not my fears.
“Ketones?” I ask.
“Negligible.”
“Headache?”
“None.”
“Fever?”
“Mild. Ninety-nine-nine.”
Not bad, all things considered. But even with the anti-nausea medication, we’re only at the beginning of this illness.
“I’m here,” I hang up as I park in the gravel drive next to Ian’s SUV.
Definitely a record commute time, and not one I hope to repeat anytime soon.
I’m through the door and across the apartment in an instant. Seeing Ian standing in the doorway to August’s room, relief washes over me like a cleansing wave. We exchange small smiles, and I know I should thank him for everything he’s done, but I can’t shake out of Mama Bear mode. August first.
Voices come from his room, and I step inside, puzzled to see the small television from my room sitting on his dresser. It’s playing his favorite educational cartoon show about underwater explorers. Who are also animals. And some vegetables. Right now, they’re singing a song about lobsters.
It all makes sense when you’re five.
“Hi, Mama.” August’s propped up against pillows so he can watch the show. He’s got towels spread out around him and the small plastic trash bin from the bathroom at his side.
Dutch is also at the ready, sprawled next to him like he needs to maintain as much bodily contact as possible.
I curl up next to August and run a hand over his head. Warm, but not so feverish he’s burning up. I’ll take the small wins. “How are you feeling?”
He gives me a thumbs down.
“That sounds about right.” I squeeze him closer. “How’s your tummy?”
He shrugs. “Better.”
“You have a friend in your bed.”
Dutch chooses that moment to lay his head across August’s knee as if daring me to kick him out.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d think about that,” Ian explains. “But he asked, so…”
“He makes me feel better, Mama.” August turns to face me, both him and the dog giving me their cutest puppy eyes.
We’ve never spent this much time with a dog before. I don’t know what’s normal or acceptable, but…I don’t mind this. Isn’t this what dogs are for? Comfort and love and cuddles?
I pet Dutch’s head until his eyes close. “I guess he can stay.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
“And the TV?”
More puppy dog eyes. “I asked Ian if I could watch while I rest.”
Ian rubs one hand over the back of his neck, glancing from the TV to me. “I can’t say no to a sick kid.”
“It’s fine.” And actually, super adorable. I might have shown more restraint, but that would only mean August propped up on the couch watching the TV in the living room instead of in his bedroom.
“Isn’t Ian so great, Mama?”
I lock eyes with Ian across the room where he’s still leaning against the doorframe.
“So great,” I confirm.
I mean it, one hundred percent. Ian is thoughtful and kind, and more patient than I ever thought a man could be. He’s looking out for both August and me with a gentle sweetness I never expected to find. I’m absolutely scared of everything that could go wrong…but I don’t want to keep pulling away from him.
I want to lean in.
“I threw up on him,” August whispers.
Maybe I don’t want to lean in right this minute.
I lift my eyebrows at Ian, but he just shrugs. The man has been a total rock, managing a medical emergency and enduring throw up, and he’s brushing it off like it’s just another day. It sure isn’t to me.
“Do you need anything?” I ask August.
“No.” He sinks deeper against the pillows. “I just want to watch for a while.”
“That’s a good idea.” He’s likely to fall asleep soon, and he needs the rest. I kiss his forehead, dismayed at the heat radiating from his skin. “I’ll come back in a couple of hours for checks.”
He nods, his sleepy eyes on his cartoon show. He’s so used to finger pricks now, he might not even wake when I come back later.
I leave him to the creatures under the sea, keeping the door ajar in case he calls or Dutch wants out. Ian’s waiting for me in the living room, a tentative smile on his face. I don’t know why that smile does it, but all the adrenaline I’ve been holding at bay finally crashes over me.
I don’t so much hug him as collapse against him in a jittery heap. He wraps his arms around my back, holding me steady in more ways than one.
“Thank you.” I exhale the words against his chest, eyes closed, letting his warmth ground me.
He kisses the top of my head. “It’s not a problem, angel.”
His utter confidence—in himself, in me—lifts my heart like a bird in flight. It’s new to flying and its wings are shaky, but it’s still up there, doing its thing. I want to lose myself in this moment, maybe let it develop into something more. But I can’t.
I pull back. “I hate to tell you this…”
“I smell like puke?” His mouth slanting into another smile sends my wobbly heart-bird even higher. “I know. I snuck next door to get a fresh shirt, but I need to shower.”
“You cleaned everything up already?” I try to peek past him as though I’ll spot a tell-tale puddle somewhere.
“I’m offended that you think I would leave it for you to handle.”
He can’t be too offended. He’s still got me snuggled up in his arms. “I’m grateful you didn’t, if that helps.”
“Depends on how grateful.”
My traitor eyes focus on his mouth. Even though I was just thinking I wanted to finally take a risk and lean in…I can’t. I’m standing here wrapped in his warm arms, and he gave me the perfect opportunity, but those last few inches between us feel like oceans.
“Very,” is all I manage. Not flirty. Not bold. Barely even lukewarm.
He tightens his arms a fraction. “You’ll be busy with August the rest of the day. What do you say to a movie marathon in between checks? Keep your mind from spiraling.”
“I didn’t say I was spiraling.” I had a toe on the line, though.
He gently sweeps a lock of hair away from my forehead. “Maybe it’s for both of us.”
He’s been worried, too? He hasn’t shown it. I love his confidence, but I love this hint of softness even more.
“I can leave you to handle it if you want me to,” he says when I stay silent too long.
“I don’t want you to leave.”
He nods like everything’s been decided. “I’ll order us something for dinner later. You just focus on August. And my movies.”
“Is it going to be all Arnold Schwarzenegger?”
His smile quirks up. “You read my mind.”
He leans closer to kiss my forehead, pausing whole seconds in that sweet gesture. Then he releases me and steps toward the door. “I’ll be back.”
I point a finger gun at him. “ Predator. ”
His thunderstruck expression tells me I might have got that wrong.
“Angel, no. That’s…” He runs a hand over his forehead like he’s trying to keep the exasperation in. “We’re going to have a serious talk about this one day.”
I wish I could save myself here, but I have minimal knowledge of his favorite actor. “I don’t watch those kinds of movies.”
“You don’t have to watch it to know the quote. There’s a whole cultural lexicon around The Terminator —” He lifts a hand in the air. “Never mind. We’ll discuss later. I’ll be back in fifteen.”
He leaves me reeling from him using the phrase “cultural lexicon.” Calm in medical situations, has a soft spot for my child, and well read. This pirate is the whole package.
I check in on August. He’s already asleep, his pale hair stuck to his sweaty face, one hand on the dog’s neck. Dutch’s eyes shift my way, and his tail slaps against the bed a few times, but he doesn’t move from his cuddle spot.
I grab the monitors off August’s dresser, double-checking his numbers haven’t sunk too low yet. I take everything with me into the living room and collapse onto the couch. Then, I have to check my own phone.
Wren: How’s A?
Mom: Please give an update on August when you can.
Mom: Take tomorrow off. Wren & I can cover for you.
Mom: Let us know if you need help tonight.
Mom: We’re here for you.
Guilt worms through my stomach. I didn’t share the whole truth when I told them August was sick. I entirely left out the part about him being at home with Ian when it happened. Wren would get my reasoning, but Mom won’t. I’ll explain it someday, just not right now.
I text them updates on August’s health and reassurances that I’ll call if I need them. I know they’re thinking about when he was first diagnosed and we had a few scary visits to the hospital. In that light, his stomach bug today isn’t so bad. Hopefully, I won’t even have to use any more emergency medications.
Hear that, Universe? Give us a softball this time.
Ian returns a few minutes later, movies in hand. He’s slicked his wet hair into his ever present bun and changed into a fresh T-shirt and athletic shorts.
I like the clothing swap. Gray sweatpants might do it for some women, but I’m a shorts girl all the way. Not just because I like the hint of his exposed thigh. He’s comfortable enough to wear them around me, and I don’t take that lightly.
“You brought a lot of movies. Am I going to have to cover my eyes during the shoot-em-up parts?”
“I don’t think so.” Standing in front of the couch, he fans the movies out in his hands.
Twins. Kindergarten Cop. Junior . No action movies to be seen.
I point at the last one. “Um…is he pregnant in that one?”
“He’s glowing.” Ian smirks. “You’re distracted already. My plan is working.”
And honestly, it is. Ian and I get comfortable on the couch and watch silly comedies. We take breaks to check August’s blood sugar and help him drink fluids. Ian orders us meals from a soup-and-salad place in town, and August manages some bites of dinner. Sick days are never routine, but this is the best one I could hope for.
It’s almost midnight when we finish our movie marathon.
“I can’t believe I cried over an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie. Stupid message about family loving you no matter what.” Hit a little too close to home.
Ian chuckles. “He can do anything.”
I yawn wide and check my phone alarm. I’ll be doing blood sugar checks every few hours until August is totally well, which could be days. I probably shouldn’t have stayed up this late, but Ian was right. Schwarzenegger kicked my anxiety’s butt. Now, exhaustion is kicking mine.
“I should go so you can get some decent sleep.” Ian stands and holds a hand out to me, helping me up. Our hands stay locked together as I walk him to the door.
“Thank you for tonight.” Those few words feel awfully small in light of everything he’s done for us.
“You don’t have to keep thanking me, angel. I wanted to be here.”
The soft lamp light makes his eyes sparkle like a rushing river. We stay like this, holding hands in front of the door, neither of us letting go. I’m waiting for him to do something—kiss me, hopefully—but I begin to realize that ball’s in my court. He’s letting me set the pace.
It’s sweet. And way too much pressure.
His motto might be “What’s life without a little risk?”, but mine is “Caution.” I don’t know how to make the next move. I’m so far out of practice, it’s laughable. We could wind up in this standoff until morning.
I’m tempted to tell him I haven’t dated since before August was born. Admit I don’t know what I’m doing. Throw the ball back in his court and let him decide our fates.
But is that really who I want to be? A woman who can’t lean one foot closer to kiss the man she’s crazy about?
In a flurry of nerves and adrenaline, I rush forward to press a kiss to his cheek. Not the bullseye, but it counts. Even if this sort of kiss gives him no chance to participate. His skin is warm, and I catch that soft cucumber scent I’ve been smelling all night. If I pressed my nose against his neck, it’d probably be even stronger.
That would be too much, right? Or would it…
But I lean back, my cheeks heating from even that brief kiss. It’s a baby step, but it’s in the right direction.
He holds my gaze, even though I’m tempted to tear mine away. It’s like he can see straight through my eyes to every one of those thoughts.
“I should bring you dinner more often,” he says with a smirk. He squeezes my hand once, a Morse code message I don’t have the decoder for. “Goodnight, Tess.”
He turns to leave, but I tug on his hand like a yo-yo, pulling him back to face me again.
“Do you want to come to the Fourth Fest with us on Saturday?” I ask. “As long as August’s better, I mean. There’s a parade and then a farmers market and live music. Wren and I will have a little cart selling hand pies, but it should be a fun time. You could join us for the fireworks in the evening, too. If you wanted.”
It’s not really asking him on a date if my whole family will be there. Which…now that I think about it, is worse than asking him on a date. What are you doing, Tess? Oh, nothing, just casually asking Ian to spend time with the entire Krause clan.
The slow smile spreading across his face is like a sparkler lighting—just a glimmer at first, but soon, it’s too bright to look at directly.
“I’d love to.”
My stomach tumbles down, down, down endless flights of stairs. I might never find my footing again if he keeps talking to me in this low voice.
“Text me how he’s doing tomorrow,” he says. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”
I nod on autopilot. Whatever you need. These baby steps aren’t enough. I thought they could tide me over, but I want more. It’s time for a leap.
He starts to turn for the door, but I tug him back. And this time, I meet him in the middle.
My lips brush against his, so painfully uncertain, I’m convinced he can feel it in my touch. My hand on his shoulder might be trembling. But then his hands slide over my back, locking me to him. His mouth responds to mine, and oh, does he participate.
Our gentle kisses would pass for chaste if it weren’t for the heat coiling through my belly. His lips press and pull, responding to mine without demanding more. There’s a tenderness to his kisses that takes me by surprise. They’re a kiss hello. A welcome home. A new beginning.
Sweet, like spun sugar.
I finally draw back enough to give us space, our arms still around each other.
“Thank you,” I breathe out.
He turns his eyes to the ceiling, his mouth slanted to the side. When his gaze reconnects with mine, there’s a fire of challenge in it.
“Don’t thank me for kissing you yet.” His low timbre is the closest thing to a legitimate growl I’ve ever heard. “Not until I’ve kissed you so thoroughly you can’t open your eyes. Not until I’ve left you sighing for more. Not until the only word in your head is my name.”
I draw in a shaky breath. It’s a good thing his arms are still around me because I’m not sure I could stand on my own right now.
He nuzzles his nose against mine. “ Then , you can thank me for kissing you.”
I swallow, my swooning brain cells grasping for words. “Something to look forward to.”