Page 75 of All In

Bubble bath stuff, soup, cuddles.

I can’t help but smile.

Me

I’m not sure if I’ll be able to find cuddles at the store.

There’s no response, so I slip my phone into my pocket and push away from the desk, standing up.

If nothing else, I’m glad it’s a Friday, and I’ll be able to spend the weekend with Harlow. He’s very clingy when he’s sick. I’m honestly surprised he even told me to go to work today. I planned to stay home with him, but he told me I didn’t need to.

I’m almost at the door—and free of this place for the next two days—when Carlos’s voice stops me. “Hey, where are you rushing off to?”

“Home,” I call over my shoulder, stopping only long enough to hold the door open as he rushes out after me. “Harlow isn’t feeling well.”

Carlos frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m glad I caught you before I left. María wants to know if you two would like to come for dinner next weekend?”

That gives me pause. Carlos has never invited me to his house before. “Really?”

He nods, following me toward my car. “Yeah, she’s been asking for a couple of weeks, and I’ve been putting it off—told her you kids wouldn’t want to have dinner with a couple of old fools like us.”

In his mid-forties, Carlos is hardly what I’d consider old, but I get what he’s saying. “I think that would be nice, actually, but can I talk to Harlow and let you know?”

He nods, giving me a little wave. “Sure thing. Have a good weekend with your man.”

I couldn’t stop my smile if I tried. “Goodnight!” I call after him as he steps away and walks toward his car.

After stopping by the store to grab some vanilla-and-lavender-scented bubble bath, soup, and some other essentials, I head home.

When I walk in the front door, I’m not greeted by Harlow. Not that I really expected to be, considering how miserable he’s feeling.

I’m surprised when I slip into our bedroom and he’s not there either. Not only that, but the bed is made.

“Harlow?”

His voice echoes through the wall when he yells my name, coming from the guest bedroom. Well, what the fuck is that about?

When I push open the door, Harlow is curled up in the bed, looking tiny and pitiful, his cheeks rosy despite how pale his face is. Even his freckles are pale.

“What are you doing in here?”

He shrugs, tugging the blanket tighter around himself. “Didn’t want to make you sick. I washed the sheets and blankets and remade the bed, so it got rid of my germs.”

I blink at him for a second before stepping fully into the room and sitting down beside him on the bed. “So, what? You think you’re just gonna stay in here all weekend?”

“Figured I would,” he whispers, then grimaces.

“I don’t think that’s gonna work for me.”

Harlow peers at me with sleepy blue eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well, first off, you requested cuddles. Like I suspected, I couldn’t find them at the store, but lucky for you, I happen to have some stocked.”

That gets him to crack a smile. “Dork.”

“Yeah, but you love me.” The words slip out without thought. We’ve told each other I love you before. Of course we have, but it’s different now somehow. Like the words hold more weight now that we’re married. Like somehow it means something else, even though it doesn’t. Not for him, anyway.

I clear my throat, about to take it back, when he nods. “I do.”