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“You’re overreacting,” Penelope told Zach as he moved from the couch to the kitchen on Monday morning. She’d spent Saturday night at his house, and Sunday, too, but this was ridiculous. She was itching to go home. Despite him having stopped by her apartment to gather a few changes of clothes—and shoes—she was ready to sleep in her own bed. And, as of Monday morning, ready to work in her own office.
He returned to the living room with a steaming mug, a string and tag dangling from the edge.
“The doctor said plenty of fluids and that peppermint tea would help as long as you don’t drink it too often.” He placed the mug in front of her on the couch where he’d arranged a remote, a few paperback novels, magazines and a plate of cheese and crackers.
A doctor made a house call Saturday afternoon and told her everything seemed fine, though he’d like her to come in soon for an ultrasound. He did take her blood for a workup, so she was glad to have that unpleasantness over with.
Zach threw a blanket over her legs and Pen tossed it off with a laugh.
“It’s nearly June, Zach. I don’t need a blanket. I don’t have the flu. I have morning sickness. I’m not going to sit here when I have work to do.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No. I’m not.”
She stood and he took a step toward her. The room canted to one side and she gripped his biceps, willing her feet to keep her upright. Strong hands wrapped around her arms and when she looked sheepishly up at her caretaker, his eyes were filled with concern.
“Pen.”
“Fine. I’ll rest. But only for today. And I’m going to return emails, then maybe a few phone calls.”
Sensing he’d lost the battle, Zach didn’t argue. But then Penelope did make a show of sipping her tea and eating a cracker—no cheese yet; her stomach couldn’t handle it.
“The doctor also said the nausea will subside. You won’t feel like this every day.” Zach, her new nursemaid, delivered a paper napkin to her next. She knew everything the doctor had said. She’d been there. But Zach was making her his top priority, and that was really...nice.
“Thank you.” In all sincerity, she should be thanking him. He was overbearing and a worrywart, but he was also looking out for her. For a woman who’d been on her own since she started staying home alone at age eleven, Pen wasn’t accustomed to someone taking care of her.
“I had lunch and dinner delivered. The meals are prepared and in the fridge. All you have to do is take the lid off and eat them.”
When Zach started listing ingredients like “chicken salad on rye” Pen’s stomach did a cannonball.
She held out a hand. “Don’t say the word chicken or rye.” She swallowed thickly. “Or salad.”
He lowered to sit next to her on the sofa, cradling her face in his hands. “You’re going to be okay here while I go to work?”
“Yes. Go.” She gave him a halfhearted shove and he stole a kiss before standing. One more wave goodbye and he left.
She sat back on the couch and flipped on the TV, using the remote. She sipped her tea, kept down the crackers and yes, a few pieces of the mild Swiss cheese, and decided that maybe she could rest for a little while.
With her body being uncooperative, she could use the break.
* * *
Zach’s mind was a million miles from work and the man currently droning on in front of him at the board meeting. He slid his gaze to his right where Armand jotted notes on his steno pad, and then to his left where Celia pecked notes into her iPad.
His mind was on Penelope and the scare she’d given him the night of the charity function at his parents’ house.
He was able to play it off as her not feeling well to everyone except for Stefanie, thanks to his gaffe when he mentioned Penelope eating for two.
Since then, he’d been in productive mode. He’d taken Pen home, called the doctor and scheduled a house visit and made sure she had everything she needed at his place.
His cell phone buzzed and he grabbed on to the interruption like a lifeline. The entire meeting halted as he stood and checked the screen. Stefanie. Good enough for him.
“Continue without me. Celia, if you could email me your notes.” With that, he was out the door, lifting his cell phone to his ear. “Zachary Ferguson.”
“Oh, so formal. I like it.”
“I have to keep up appearances for the suits.”
