“I guess you’re hungry, that’s a good sign,” Wes says as he hunts through the cabinets, looking for plates. Instead of telling him where they are, I enjoy the feeling of watching him make himself at home in my space. “Table or patio?” he asks once he’s located them.
“How about couch?” I ask. My energy is waning again, and I’m not sure the sunlight would agree with the pounding in my head. He nods in alead the waymotion, so I settle into one corner of the couch and get comfortable.
Wes puts the food on the coffee table and has my feet in his lap across the couch before I even have a second to think. My eyes catch on the corded muscles of his forearm as he grabs the blanket off the back and covers my legs. Then he casually reaches for his coffee as if he didn’t just make my heart melt. How did I get so lucky to have found such a good friend?
I’m still not used to having someone who sees me, who sees what I need and actually acts on it. His big hand gives my foot a little squeeze through the blanket. There’s a naturalness to the way we sit and eat in silence. I never feel the need to fill the quiet spaces with Wes. We sit like this a lot when we’re surfing, just listening to the waves and taking in the beauty of the world.
He finishes eating before I do and starts rubbing my feet through the blanket. I let out a low moan at how good it feels. Last night was hell, but right here, I think I might be in heaven. My head falls back and I get lost in the feel of his hands on me.
“Oh my god, that feels incredible.”
His hands still, just for a second, before resuming their ministrations, but my eyes snap open to find his gaze locked on me. That look is pure fire, and a part of me wants to burn with him. Damn the consequences.
I have to shift my eyes away as a heat that has nothing to do with the fever spreads through my body. I’m sick after all—this is not the time to let those thoughts take hold.
“Um, would you mind grabbing me those meds from the counter?” I say in an attempt to shift the vibe.
I continue to stare resolutely at my muffin, breaking off a piece and popping it into my mouth. I hold back the moan this time, not wanting to reignite the spark I just thoroughly doused. He sets my feet down on the couch and is back a minute later, meds in one hand and a fresh bottle of water in the other.
“Thank you.”
“Welcome.” There’s gravel in that one word, and I avoid looking at him for fear of what I might see in his eyes.
He moves back to sit at the other end of the couch, but he doesn’t immediately pull my feet into his lap. Is he trying to reestablish our boundaries the same way I am? The ones we blasted through with the hand holding and cuddling last night?
I feel sleep pulling at me again, so I curl onto my side, feet just barely brushing his thigh. He gently brings them back to his lap,readjusting the blanket as he kicks his own feet onto the coffee table. It’s like he can’t stand not touching me, kind of like when he asked if he could hug me earlier. Normally, I would scold him aboutfeet on the table, but he looks comfortable enough to make me bite my tongue.
I close my eyes and let the world fall away, wondering if he’ll still be here when I wake up.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Joss
Iblink my eyes open to find a fresh bottle of water, more meds, and a package of Tim Tams on the coffee table. There’s also a note.
I can’t stop the stupid smirk that tugs at my lips. “Bossy,” I mumble under my breath while I run my fingers over the tidy handwriting. It’s not messy and chaotic like mine, and I like knowing that his hand ran across this page just for me. He’sstill taking care of me from afar, and it makes my heart constrict in my chest. I do what he told me though and grab the bottle of water, popping the pills into my mouth.
My eyes snag on the Tim Tams. I mean, why not? I tear into the package, grabbing two. The first bite is heavenly as the chocolate coating melts on my tongue followed by the crunchy biscuit and creamy chocolate filling. I close my eyes and do a little wiggle because it tastes so good. Note to self, if I’m going to settle down, do it with a man who buys me Tim Tams.
I push the package away, otherwise they’ll be gone before Wes even gets back. There’s a bizarre galloping sensation in my belly at the thought. Why do I feel giddy about that? And anyway, he should want to avoid me like the plague I’m clearly carrying.
I pull myself up to sitting, waiting for the pounding in my head to start again, but it never comes. I should take a shower myself. The bath this morning was great, but there’s just something about a scalding hot shower when you’re sick to make you feel human. Two more Tim Tams just so happen to disappear from the package before I make my way back to the bedroom, humming a little as I go.
Walking into the living room thirty minutes later, freshly showered and in clean leggings and a tank top, the first thing I see is a bouquet of flowers on the table. They’re stunning. But they don’t hold a candle to the man standing in my kitchen, heating soup on the stove. Wearing an apron. He hears my chuckle and turns to face me, giving me an eyeful of him in myKiss the Cookapron, hair still a little damp.
“I saw it hanging on the pantry door. Thought it was worth a shot.” He gives me his megawatt smile, dimples on full display even under his beard.
I can’t help the laugh that trips out of me. “Nice try. I don’t think you want my germs though.”
“Hmmm. Good point, I might have to take a rain check.” He turns back to the soup and continues stirring. The flirty way he’s talking to me has my head spinning, wondering if any of our boundaries have stayed intact.
“The flowers are from Frank, by the way,” he throws out over his shoulder.
I’m glad he’s facing away from me so he can’t see the twinge of disappointment that mars my brow. I guess some of those boundaries are still up.
Platonic friends don’t buy you flowers. BUT they also don’t hold you in bed all night.
I sigh and walk over to my flowers, wishing I could smell them. Stupid stuffy nose. I can see there’s a note tucked inside.
