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“Why not? It’s the truth.”
“Harry. No.” She sniffled, then yawned. “Whatever we tell them, we face it together.”
The suite’s doorbell rang. “That’ll be your tea,” he said, kissing her cheek.
* * *
“I hate being sick,” Hayley said, bringing a tissue to her face, then sneezing into it. She’d complained loudly enough about being bedridden that they’d moved into the living area, blankets and all. “I must look disgusting.”
“You don’t.”
Hayley glared at him. Or attempted to. Her eyes were so red and puffy they were practically closed.
He pulled a strand of sweat-soaked hair from her temple. “I’m not lying. You’re beautiful.”
“Stop trying to make me feel better.” Another sneeze.
He chuckled. “Okay, I’ll stop. But only because you asked me to.” He passed her another Kleenex, softly adding, “It doesn’t change how I feel.”
“You’re impossible,” she attempted to say.
Harrison had to laugh at how she sounded, her stuffy nose rendering her words unintelligible. Within seconds, they were both laughing, although Hayley had to stop to cough halfway through.
Harrison was quick to pick her feet up off the floor, forcing her to make herself comfortable on the couch while he draped her with a thick blanket.
“I wouldn’t have guessed you to have such a good bedside manner,” she said, snuggling under the blanket until she burrowed underneath.
Rubbing her feet over the covers, he said, “Do you want me to go? I can visit our friend down at reception and see if they’ve freed up another room.” He still hadn’t told her about the vacancy. He needed to get a feel for what she wanted first. Hopefully it wouldn’t bite him in the ass later. “Maybe I’ll get lucky, and he’ll tell me I won a romantic getaway.”
With a weak kick, she shook her head. “Please stay.”
He settled back against the couch, toeing his shoes off and reaching for the remote. Once they’d finally agreed on a movie — which was more like Harrison agreeing to whatever Hayley wanted to watch — he reached under the blanket and worked the knots out of her feet, only complaining half as much about the trite holiday romance as he wanted to.
Hayley smiled each time he did, and Harrison found it easier than he thought it would be to enjoy himself.
“You’re better than these films, you know.”
She interrupted him. “Not again. Harry, just say you’re a snob and move on. It’s much quicker.”
“Seriously,” he had to say it. “You’re an amazing writer. You could be doing —”
“What? Real movies?” she asked, but there was no heat behind it.
“You know what I meant.”
She sniffled, then exhaled a deep sigh. “Of course I question it. I know it isn’t,” she lifted one hand to weakly mimic air quotes, “art. But I care about the stories I write. They make people happy. They make me happy.”
He stilled, feeling the delicate bones of her ankle under his fingers. “I was wrong the other day. Writing these isn’t as easy as I thought. Harder, actually.” Everything about this week had been more difficult than he’d expected, but he didn’t regret a second of it. Even now, surrounded by tissues and Hayley’s soft wheezing breaths, he was happier than he could remember being in a long time.
And it was all thanks to her.
“I told you not to bet against me,” she rasped. “Now you’re two for two.”
He was a hell of a lot more behind than that.
* * *
Hayley was in the shower when Lee called, and Harrison was busy strategizing an exit.
