Chapter 42
Saturdays are back to normal again. I drop Jess off at her grandpa’s, like always, and then head to the house Jameson is renting this week.
We have a stay-inside-all-day kind of date planned.
I may have stayed up too late last night baking my favorite pumpkin chocolate chip cookies and putting together a homemade charcuterie board—which Madeline, my favorite pharmacist, sent me the link for. I’m very proud of it.
I pull into the driveway, haul everything out of the car, and pull my peacoat tight. I may have worn a very low-cut top just for him.
It takes a minute for him to answer, and when he does, I immediately go into mom-mode. I can’t help it. He has bags under his eyes, his hair looks like he tried to do it but missed his usual perfection, and he’s paler than I’ve ever seen him.
“Jameson,” I say, taking him in, my voice laced with concern. “What do you have? Stomach bug? Cold?”
He smiles weakly and starts to laugh, but it turns into a cough he quickly turns to cover. When he’s done, he faces me again. “A death plague?”
I laugh. “Let me in.”
“I’m really sorry,” he mumbles, still standing in the doorway. “But I can’t let you be a part of this.”
“Do you know how good my immune system is? I literally never get sick. I touch so many nasty things at the restaurant, and I have a child who goes to public school.”
“Yeah, a child who can get so much worse if I pass this onto her via a vessel named Carly.”
I tilt my head at him, trying not to look too amused. “Do you always talk like that when you’re sick?”
“I do not know what you refer to, my lady.”
I snort. “What is this?”
“I don’t know,” he says, defensive but still wearing a tired, teasing smirk. “I’m a little loopy, okay? I didn’t sleep much after that late flight, and I knew I felt a little off, but today I woke up and it’s like a truck hit me in my sleep.”
“Do you have anything here? Cold medicine, at least?”
“Yeah, about that. Did you know there are no delivery services around here for such things?” His accent comes out thicker when he’s tired and sick, I realize. I feel bad for him, but I also love it.
“Yeah, I’m aware. Welcome to small-town life. Do you have any preferences on cold medicine brands?” I ask as I slip past him into the house and set my trays on the counter.
“What are you—no.” He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, exasperated. He tilts his head down, sighing while rubbing the stubble along his jaw. “I hate being vulnerable like this.”
“You’ve just been hit hard with some sort of flu or cold. You’re human. It happens to everyone.”
“Not to you.” He smirks.
“Well, I’m special,” I tease.
“I know.”
A moment passes between us. Even though he’s sick and clearly miserable, there’s heaviness in the air as we lock eyes. And I realize he doesn’t let many people see him like this—but he’s letting me. I clear my throat and pull my purse tighter against my arm.
“I appreciate you still getting dressed for me and trying, but take those jeans off, get into something comfy, and get back in bed. I’ll be back in, like thirty minutes, okay?”
He says nothing. Still hasn’t moved from the wall. He simply watches me with a lazy grin as I head back out the door.