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“Go back to bed,” I tell her. “Can you manage some eggs?”
She freezes, a hand climbing up to her stomach.
I huff. “No eggs, then. A piece of toast?”
A slow breath slips through her lips, and Lily nods. “Yeah. Toast would be good.”
“Butter?”
She nods. “And a little sprinkle of salt.”
I tilt my head, then nod. I’ve never tried salt on buttered toast. Kissing the top of her head, I guide her back to the bedroom and get her settled. When I get back to the kitchen, I’m too worried about how she’s feeling to care about the food. The smell of the bacon is obviously what got to her. I find a container and pop the pieces inside, then wrap up all the grease-covered foil I’d used to line the baking sheet. Smelly things disposed of, I leave the beaten eggs beside the stove and start slicing some of the fresh French bread I bought this morning.
It’s when I’m waiting for the toaster to do its thing that I realize I like this—taking care of her. Glancing over my shoulder toward the bedroom, that same, unfamiliar feeling or rightness comes over me. This is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I want more of this. Not that I want Lily to be puking every morning, but I want to be the one there to take care of her.
Then a chill walks down my spine, because I remember the last time I felt the need to take care of someone like this. It ended with me alone, wallowing in my own misery. Do I really want to go through that again?
When I bring Lily a plate with buttered toast and a cup of peppermint tea, she rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands and gives me a shy smile. “I’m sorry about that, Rudy. Thank you for cooking breakfast.”
“Don’t apologize.” I wait until she’s taken a bite of the toast, chewed, and swallowed before speaking again. “You think it was the takeout last night? I feel fine, but I didn’t have any of the soup.”
She shakes her head. “Just a bit of nausea. Doesn’t feel like food poisoning.” She opens her mouth, then closes it again, choosing instead to take another bite of toast. There’s something she’s not telling me.
I frown. “You sure? What else would it be?” I reach over to touch her forehead, which feels a bit clammy but not hot.
“I’m fine, Rudy.”
I sit on the edge of the bed until she nods at the door. “I’ll go eat out there. You should have bacon and eggs since you went to all that effort. I didn’t even know I had bacon and eggs in the fridge.”
I huff a laugh. “You didn’t. I went to the store, but I’m not going to eat anything that has you running to put your head in the toilet.” I arch a brow but get up anyway. Lily and I make the bed. She places all the throw pillows just so, which makes me smile and convinces me that she isn’t that sick.
Some tightness between my shoulder blades eases, which makes me wonder just how far under my skin Lily’s gotten. It’s only been a few weeks—and only one night together. How far gone will I be after another night?
When we’re back in the living room/kitchen area, Lily slides onto one of the barstools and nods to the stove. “Eat, Rudy. You need the calories after everything we did last night.”
“Says the woman who just threw up first thing in the morning.”
“Yeah, well, it happens.” She doesn’t meet my eyes, but finishes her toast. Maybe she’s right; it was just a bit of nausea. If she’s eating and she cared enough about her pillows, it can’t be that bad.
By the time the eggs are done and my coffee is poured, Lily has finished her toast and tea. I eat quickly, perched on the barstool next to hers, keeping one foot on the rung of Lily’s barstool and one hand on her thigh. I can’t help it. Any time this woman is near me, I feel like I need to touch her. Her presence calms me, centers me.
“So it really doesn’t bother you that I have breast cancer?” Lily asks out of the blue. “That I’ll have to get a mastectomy?”
I glance at Lily, then at the time, then back at Lily.
She grins. “We missed the twelve-hour mark, so I’m allowed to ask.”
Huffing, I finish my bite to give myself time to think. Once I’ve swallowed, I shrug. “No, doesn’t bother me.”
“I’m going to lose my breast, Rudy.”
“As magnificent as I think your breasts are, there are lots of other things about you I enjoy just as much, if not more.” I grin.
Lily’s eyes are sad.
I take a sip of coffee, then say, “How are you feeling?”
