His growl is so low, my ears barely pick it up, but it’s enough. Grinning, I step back into the hall. So, no one sneaks into Millie’s room without the Great Pyrenees’s okay.
Works for me.
I’ll send Millie a text. Let her know there’s chicken tortilla soup in the fridge whenever she’s ready for it. I’m about to turn to go when Clarence jumps onto the bed and collapses beside his mistress with a huff.
It’s not gentle. It’s not subtle, and no surprise, Millie stirs. She rolls onto her back with a deep inhale. For a split second, I consider ducking out of sight. Waking up to me standing in her doorway might freak her out. Friends or not, my place isn’t in the bedroom.
But knowing I should go and actually making myself do it are two different things, and it turns out I suck at it.
As if Millie knows someone’s there, her head pops up, and she squints at me.Dios mío,even though she’s pale and sick in bed, she’s so damn beautiful it hurts.
She lets her head drop back on the pillow, but she keeps her eyes on me. “Are you a dream?”
Not the question I was expecting.
I chuckle. “No. You okay?” I don’t wait for her to answer, and I don’t wait for her to invite me in, or worse, send me away. I step back into the room, and now that Millie is awake and acknowledging me, Clarence seems to have no objections at all.
I move around the far side of her bed and set the bags on her nightstand. She doesn’t even look at them. Her gaze has tracked me, and she still looks pretty confused. Her eyes are glassy, and she’s got the covers pulled tight around her like she’s freezing.
“You okay, Millie?” I ask again because I’m not sure she even heard me the first time.
“What time is it?” She’s frowning now, worry creasing her forehead.
“A little after seven. You slept a couple of hours.”
Her eyes fly open. “Oh Jesus!” She tries to sit up but only makes it onto her elbows before wincing in pain. I put a hand on her shoulder.
“Hey. Hey. Not so fast.”
Millie gives up, somewhere between sitting and lying, and rests the back of her head against the headboard. It looks really uncomfortable.
“I have to get up,” she groans.
At first I think she needs the bathroom or she’s about to be sick.
“I’ll help you,” I offer, moving my grip to her elbow. “What do you need?”
“It’s getting late,” she says, her voice raspy and weak. “The kids need dinner.”
“Oh. They’re good. They had Cane’s.”
She stills. “How? Did… Did Harry Waitr it?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “I’m going to forgive you for that because you’re sick.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, blinking. Then she seems to remember herself. “And I’m not sick. It’s just a cold.”
I snort. “You’re unbelievable.” She is. In every way. Millie can’t let her guard down unless she physically collapses. Even when she does collapse, she denies it.
It makes me want to scoop her up in my arms and pull her into my lap. Tell her she can rest her head for five minutes.Dios mío,I’ve never known anyone who tries so hard.
“I got dinner for the kids.” Then I point to the bag on her nightstand. “Waitr got dinner for us.”
She scoots up a little higher on the headboard for a better view. It still looks pretty uncomfortable.
I lean over her and grab the spare pillow beside her. “Here. Let me help you.”
A scowl crosses her face. It’s like the very notion of letting someone help her makes her testy, but I ignore it and slide one hand behind her shoulder blades to ease her up, slipping the pillow behind her with the other.
