Maybe this all is the start of something special.
“Wow, you look awful.”
It’s the last thing I expected to say when Jack opened his front door for our first night together, the one we’ve been looking forward to all week is.
His skin is pale and clammy, and dark circles hang beneath his sunken eyes. He clutches his stomach, as he leans against the door, his eyes bloodshot. “I’m so sorry.”
“Now who’s apologizing for something that isn’t his fault.” I hadn’t brought anything over after Jack suggested we could go out before coming back to the house for the night, but, by the looks of it, I don’t think he’s in any shape to leave.
“I meant to call, but I fell asleep on the couch after I got home from my shift this morning.” He runs a hand through his bed head, the dark strands messy and sticking out at odd angles. “I really wanted to spend time with you, but I don’t want to get you sick.”
I wave a hand, stepping through the front door. “I trust my immune system, and you look like you could use somehelp.” My eyes assess him up and down, his clothes are rumpled and damp from what I can only assume is a fever.
With how sluggish he is as we walk toward his kitchen, he looks like he’s seconds away from falling over.
“Have you eaten?” I ask him, and he shakes his head as he sits down at the chair at his kitchen counter.
“I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to keep anything down.” His eyes roam to the empty high chair at the edge of the counter. “Did Evee make it to my mom’s?” he asks, and I’ll never get over how he is always concerned with Evee, making sure she’s good and taken care of.
“All good. Ava texted me that Em was there when she dropped her off, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Ava is still there. She texted me how much she loved your mom, and they met literally half an hour ago. She sent me a picture of the four of them from outside on your mom’s patio.” I pull out my phone, pulling up the selfie that Ava sent me to show to Jack.
“Good,” Jack says, looking at the picture, but he looks like he’s in pain when he tries to smile.
I set my phone on the table, walking over to the sink to fill up Jack’s water bottle he has drying next to the sink. “Let’s start with getting you hydrated, and then we can revisit the food.”
Handing him his water bottle, he brings it to his chapped lips, taking a few big sips. I see the cold medicine he must have taken when he got home today and push that over to him too. He takes the pills with a couple more sips of water.
Looking down at my dress, I feel overdressed to be a caretaker for the night, so I ask Jack if I can raid his dresser for something cozier to wear. I brought pajamas over, as well as anything else I needed to spend the night, but I don’t think the tiny silk shorts and tank top fit with tonight’s new agenda.
“You’re telling me I have to look at you, in my clothes, in my bedroom, when I’m too sick to even touch you?”
“Relax, firefighter. You’ll be asleep in half an hour after taking those pills. Hopefully you’ll sleep this off and feel better in the morning.” I turn to head up the stairs to his headroom, but he grabs my hand to stop me.
“I really am sorry about our night.” His voice is soft, his eyes sad, and I don’t like it.
“Things happen. Not to mention, I have a one-year-old daughter. Better get used to our relationship having interruptions,” I tell him, running a hand through his hair, feeling his too-hot skin against my palm. “I’ll be right back.” I give his hand a squeeze before heading upstairs.
Not exactly sure what to expect, I walk into Jack’s bedroom and am pleasantly surprised with how nice it is. I’ve seen glimpses in the background on our nightly FaceTime calls, but this is my first time seeing the whole space.
In the two months Jack has lived here, he’s done a lot of unpacking and making the house much more of a home—even though I thought it felt like one the first week he moved in.
His bed is neatly made with a sleek gray duvet, and the simple wooden headboard gives the room a clean, put-together feel. The dark furniture is a nice contrast to light blue walls, a big TV hung just in front of the bed—one I plan on taking full-advantage of tonight while Jack sleeps.
After finding one of Jack’s T-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants in his surprisingly organized dresser, I throw his clothes on, my sundress forgotten in a pile on the floor. His T-shirt is soft and smells like him, but his sweatpants barely stay above my hips, even with pulling the drawstrings as tightly as they go.
I pull my hair up in a ponytail, wanting it out of my face and head into his bathroom to wash off the little makeup I have on.
I thought I’d feel more disappointed with the night taking this sort of turn, but it’s nowhere to be found. I’m just happy to spend time with Jack, no matter what it looks like.
There’s this part of me that feels like we have all the time in the world. We’re taking things slow; there’s no pressure to rush anything.
And with all the time that passes, it feels more like this is something that is built to last.
When I head back downstairs, I find Jack laying down on the couch, the cold medicine already kicking in.
“Hey, let’s get you upstairs.” The sun is still high in the sky, the mid-July evening looking like the middle of the day with how bright it is, but he needs to sleep this off.
Jack mumbles something against the couch cushions, but he makes no effort to move. Grabbing his arm, his skin is hot to the touch. I press the back of my hand to his forehead, and he is burning up.
