Chapter 13 #2
I brought him a mug of broth rather than a bowl, easier to manage in his weakened state. I sat on the edge of the bed and watched as he managed a few cautious swallows.
“This is good,” he murmured, surprise clear in his voice.
“Don’t sound so shocked,” I teased. “I’m not useless in the kitchen. If I can make a latte, I can microwave a mug of canned broth.”
He continued to sip the broth, and I was acutely aware of how domestic the moment was: sitting on his bed, watching him drink something I’d prepared, the casual familiarity of caring for someone when they were helpless.
It was the kind of moment couples shared.
At the end of our four weeks, would we be a couple?
Indecision and longing jumbled in my gut.
His eyelids drooped. “You should rest,” I said gently. I took the still-half-full mug from his hands.
Jack caught my wrist as I stood, his grip surprisingly strong for someone so ill. “Cooper.” His eyes burned with something more than fever. “Don’t leave me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I assured him. “Just to the living room. I’ll be right outside the door if you need anything.”
He shook his head and tugged weakly at my wrist. “Stay here. Please.”
How could I refuse him anything when he looked at me like that? I settled back onto the edge of the bed. “Okay. I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
Jack nodded, apparently satisfied, and closed his eyes. His hand remained loosely wrapped around my wrist, as if to ensure I wouldn’t leave. Within minutes, his breathing deepened, and his grip relaxed as he drifted back to sleep.
I should have moved then, returned to the couch. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Instead, I gently disentangled my wrist from his fingers and transferred to the chair, where I could watch over him without disturbing his rest.
The day passed in a rhythm of caretaking. I urged fluids whenever he woke, helped him to the bathroom when he had the runs, and administered medication at regular intervals. By late afternoon, his fever had dropped slightly, though he was still obviously miserable.
At dinnertime, I woke him gently. “You haven’t vomited since noon. Think you can sip a little more broth? Eat some crackers?” I asked.
Jack struggled to sit up, and I instinctively moved to help him. I arranged pillows behind his back. The casual touch of my hands on his shoulders, his back, felt both completely natural and heart-stoppingly significant.
“Thanks,” he mumbled. He accepted the mug of broth and the crackers I offered. “You’ve been here all day?” he asked, as if he didn’t remember asking me to stay.
“Where else would I be?” I settled into the chair with the sandwich I’d had delivered for myself.
“What about The Coffee Cove?”
“Jessica and Marco took care of it.” Throughout the day, Jessica had sent me text updates and reassured me everything at the shop was under control.
Jack looked at me strangely, as if trying to solve a complex level in a game. “You’re too good to me,” he said finally.
“Impossible,” I countered lightly, though fear crept in at the edges—what if I let him down after our four weeks ended? How would he feel about me then?
We ate in comfortable silence, and Jack managed more food than I expected. His color was slightly better, and his eyes seemed clearer. The worst of the fever had broken, though he was still frail and sick.
“I should let you get back to sleep,” I said when he’d finished eating. “Need anything else before I go?”
Confusion crossed his face. “You’re leaving?”
“Just to the living room,” I said. “I’m going to sleep on your couch tonight.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he protested, though without much conviction.
“I know,” I said simply. “But I’m going to. Someone needs to make sure you don’t take a turn for the worse in the night.”
Jack’s fever spiked again around midnight, and with it came rambling that had me sitting on the edge of the bed, washcloth in hand, trying to follow his disconnected thoughts.
“Cooper?” His voice was thick and uncertain, eyes unfocused as they found mine in the dim light.
“I’m here,” I said softly, and pressed the cool cloth to his forehead.
“But what happens...” He swallowed hard, wincing. “What happens when this is over? Our thing. Who’s gonna take care of me when I’m sick?” His words slurred together, but the underlying fear was crystal clear.
The question hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. He thought we’d just…stop. That if our arrangement ended, we’d be strangers. That I’d walk away from him completely.
“Jack, no.” I set the washcloth aside and leaned closer, my chest tight with something that felt dangerously close to panic. “We’d still be friends. We’ll always be friends.”
His eyes drifted closed, and for a moment I thought he’d fallen back asleep. Then he made a small, noncommittal sound that could have been agreement or dismissal.
“Jack?” I tried again, my voice cracking slightly. “You know that, right? Even if things don’t work out, I’m not going anywhere. I care about you too much to just disappear.”
But his breathing had already evened out, fever pulling him back under, leaving me sitting there in the dark wondering if he’d even heard me—and terrified that maybe, deep down, he didn’t believe it was true.
Sleep was elusive, my mind replaying Jack’s fever-induced words. How much should I read into his fear that we would no longer be friends?
I dozed fitfully and woke at the slightest sound from Jack’s bedroom. Around three, I heard him retching and immediately went to check on him.
“Water,” he rasped when he saw me in the doorway.
I brought him a bottle and helped him sit up to drink it. His fever had spiked again and his skin was hot to the touch. I gave him more ibuprofen, then sat with him until it began to take effect. His body gradually relaxed as the fever subsided.
“You’re really staying all night,” he murmured, half-asleep again.
“Of course I am.”
“No one’s taken care of me like this since I was a kid,” he admitted. His voice slurred as sleep approached. “Not since my mother died.”
The simple statement broke my heart a little. “Get used to it,” I told him softly, not sure if he was still awake enough to hear me.
“S’nice,” he mumbled, eyes closed. “Like having you here.”
“I like being here,” I whispered, but he was already asleep.
The next morning, Jack was markedly better. Still sick, but the fever had broken, and he could sit up in bed without help.
“You look more human today.” I handed him a plate of toast and placed a cup of peppermint tea on his bedside table.
“Feel more human,” he said, his voice still rough but stronger. “Thanks to you.”
“You’d have done the same for me.” I knew he would have—that was just who Jack was: my best friend and, now, maybe something more.
“In a heartbeat.” The sincerity in his voice made my throat tighten. “But seriously, Cooper. Thank you. For staying, for everything.”
Something warm and achingly tender spread through my chest at his words. “You don’t have to thank me,” I said softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair back from his forehead. “Just focus on getting better, okay?”
“Okay,” he whispered, gratitude and some stronger emotion in his eyes I couldn’t decipher.
“I should probably head out soon. Need to shower, change clothes. But I can come back later.”
“You’ve done more than enough,” he said. “I think I can manage from here. The fever’s down, and I can actually stand up without the room spinning.”
“If you’re sure,” I said, reluctant to leave despite his assurances. “Text me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all.”
“I will,” he promised. “Really, Cooper. Thank you.”
On impulse, I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, a gesture that was half caretaker’s check for fever, half something much more affectionate. “Get better,” I murmured. “The Coffee Cove isn’t the same without you.”
Jack’s smile was soft, true. “I’ll do my best.”
As I gathered my things and prepared to leave, I couldn’t help cataloging the changes in our relationship over the past week. From an impulsive kiss to The Boyfriend Bargain to this domestic caretaking—each step blurred the lines between friendship and possibly something deeper.
I pulled Jack’s door closed behind me with a soft click, my heart still racing from everything that had transpired over the past day.
The way Jack had looked at me—vulnerable, yes, but also with something deeper flickering in those blue eyes—felt like a revelation.
There had been moments over the past week when I’d caught Jack looking at me with an expression I’d never noticed before—something deeper and more tender than friendship.
Something was shifting, growing in the space between what we’d always been and what we might become.
I had three weeks left to decide if I wanted our bargain to become something beyond temporary.