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"Are you feeling any better yet?" Worry gnaws at me. The dark circles under his eyes aren’t as severe, but he’s still pale. What if he doesn’t get better? When is the time to throw the towel and get him to the hospital?

"Not any worse, at least." He clears his throat and takes a seat on one of the bar stools by the kitchen island. Meanwhile, I fill two glasses with the smoothie. It’s thick and makes an unappetizing sound as I pour it, but I take it as a good sign. The worse it tastes, the better the effect is probably going to be.

"That's something." Still not ideal. I slide a glass with the thick smoothie towards him.

"Is this one of those alleged hangover remedies that taste like shit?" He regards the brown-greenish liquid skeptically.

"Oh, suck it up, buttercup. It's medicine. It doesn't have to taste good. The vitamins only have to work." I lift my glass to him. "To make it fair, I'll drink one too. Deal?"

He scrunches his nose, which is adorable, but nods. "Okay." Now why does he sound as if I’m sending him off to war? What a drama queen.

“Cheers.” I clink my glass against his and take a sip. Yeah, it’s not great. In fact, it’s the opposite of great. But if I don’t catch his cold thanks to this vitamin bomb, I’ll take it as a win.

"Go slowly, Kieran. See if your stomach is okay with it." He takes the first sip and grimaces.

"Yeah, I don't want to drink this slowly. My tongue is not okay with it."

"I don't care," I declare and cock a brow, tapping my fingers against the marble countertop.

"I'll drink the rest later." He skeptically nudges the glass farther onto the kitchen island. "Or I will definitely puke."

"Okay. I’ll hold you to that." I grab it and put it in the fridge. "Then go lie back down, Kieran. Take the guest room. I would not be able to catch you if you black out halfway up your stairs."

"Sure." His voice breaks, and I think he's putting a good bit of fake drama into it, but he shuffles over to his guest room, moving his legs as if they weigh a hundred kilograms more than they do.

Ridiculous. I pull another cooling pack out of his freezer.

"Men, seriously." I rub my temples. Then I look at Rose." Always complaining. And then there are strong little ladies such as your cute, furry self." I lean down and rest my forehead against hers. "Such a strong woman who gave birth so many times over, and he’s whining because of a cold."

She wags her tail and licks my face, as if she understood every word.

"Yes, you are such a strong little lady. Now, come on. Let's bring the strong, suffering man a cooling pack." Kieran is buried under five layers of blankets when I reach his guest room, his almost-black hair fanning over his pillow. I announce myself with a soft knock.

He lifts his hand but doesn't open his eyes.

"Don't be surprised. I got you a cooling pad." I sit on the side of the bed and softly brush his hair away from his forehead, then gently set the cooling pad on it. "Is this okay?"

"So good," he mumbles into his covers. Then suddenly, his arm snakes over my thighs, squeezing my legs and cuddling in as if I’m an oversized teddy bear.

I can't help but keep running my fingers through his hair. It's slightly damp, but so soft. "Sleep, Kieran." I make an attempt to get up, but his arm around my leg tightens.

"Stay," he croaks. I freeze. It’s the first time he’s asking for something from me, and something about him trusting me enough to do so sends warmth through my chest.

My eyes jump from his black hair to the door. His breathing evens out, his arm around my leg grows heavier. I could probably lift it off me without waking him and hang out in the living room.

But I could also stay here. Only for a little longer.

Chapter 22

Kieran

When I was a child and Ella or I had a cold, my mom used to fuss over us as if it would take us to the grave. She’d make chicken soup from scratch and circle through every old wives’ tale she knew until we were healthy again.

Being sick is when I miss her the most. Not only her chicken soup, but the way she watched out for me, the soft clicking of her knitting needles as she sat next to my bed and waited for me to get better. She used to say she’d watch over us like hawks so the grim reaper would have to go through her.

I know it’s ridiculous. But the first time Dick got sick, I understood.

Now I’m used to being alone. Which includes being sick on my own.