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“It’s four in the morning––”
“I know. I…need something.”
“What do you need? I might have it––”
“Trust me. You don’t,” I interrupt, keeping my head down as I try to slip past him.
He steps in front of me. “Stop. You’re freaking me out.”
“I’m fine.”
“Kate.” His calloused finger brushes beneath my chin as he lifts my head up. “What’s going on? Have you been crying? Did I do something wrong?”
The concern in his gaze hits like a sucker punch to the gut. Oh, how easily I’ve fallen for this man. Despite our age difference. Despite working with his daughter. Despiteeverything.
“Tell me,” he begs.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then, what is it? What do you need from the store?”
Just say it, Kate.
“I started my period, and I don’t have any pads or tampons, and I made a mess of your bed and probably this shirt, and I’m pretty sure I’m two seconds away from dying of embarrassment, and I can’t even do that right now, because I can already feel myself bleeding through this toilet paper, so…”
He reaches for the hem of the shirt I’d thrown on, but I stop him. “Mack, don’t. I’m gross.”
“I’m a paramedic, Kate. I think I can handle a little blood.” He pulls the shirt up more forcefully, and this time, I let him slip it off of me. My hair spills around my shoulders as I stand naked as the day I was born and more vulnerable than I’ve ever felt in my entire life. At least when I have a seizure, I wake up without any memory of the event. But this? Yeah. Pretty sure it’s tattooed on my brain forever.
And the kindness in his eyes? The gentleness in his touch? Those will be tattooed there, too. And I’m okay with that.
“How are you feeling?” he murmurs, his warm hand caressing beneath my belly button where I’m most achy.
“Crampy.”
“A hot shower should help.” His hand drops to his side, leaving me cold. “I’ll be back in an hour.” He turns on his heel.
I reach out to stop him. “Wait. Where are you going?”
“To pick up the stuff you need.”
“You don’t have to––”
“It’s not a big deal, Kate.”
“Uh, trust me. It kind of is. Periods are gross.”
“I was married for sixteen years, witnessed my two children being born, and both daughters started their periods when they were twelve. I think I can handle this. Periods aren’t gross. They’re natural.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, kisses my forehead, and gently urges me toward his shower. “Take your time. I’ll lay some of my clothes on the bed for you to change into until I get back.”
“I can use my own.”
“You can change into yours once you have the stuff you need. No use getting them dirty.”
“Um…speaking of your bed…” I grimace. “I may have gotten some blood on the sheets.”
“You already mentioned it,” he reminds me with a smirk. “Not a big deal. Promise. I’ll put them in the wash before I leave. Do you prefer pads, tampons, or the D-cup thing?”
“Uh, I––”
