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“An hour ago. Came straight from the airport.”
I leaned against my car, too tired to stand by myself. “Done with London?”
“Yeah, very much so. I…” He narrowed his eyes. “You look pale.”
I shrugged. “Just tired, and I have a bit of a headache. Nothing new.”
“I should let you go home.”
“It’s fine. My sons aren’t home anyway, so I’m not in a hurry.”
“Not for them. For you. You need rest.”
As if on cue, a huge yawn made my jaw crack. “Sorry. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed by a good night’s sleep.”
“You shouldn’t be driving.”
I frowned. Where was his sudden concern coming from? “I can assure you I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. I’m fine.”
He bit his lip. I’d never seen Tomás this uncertain, and it was a little unnerving. “Will you allow me to drive you home? Please?”
“What about your car?”
A dismissive wave. “I can pick it up later. It’s not that far of a walk back.”
Another huge yawn decided for me, and I capitulated. “Okay.”
He transferred two suitcases from his care to mine, and we set off.
“Do you have headaches often?” he asked as he pulled off the small parking lot behind the practice.
“Occasionally. I don’t function well on little sleep, which isn’t a good thing for a small-town doctor.”
“Hmm,” he said noncommittally.
We said nothing during the drive to my house, but the silence felt comfortable.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“I’m not in the mood for?—”
“To take care of you. Not for sex.”
“Oh.” Take care of me? Why did he think I needed that? But arguing seemed like too much effort, so I nodded. “Sure.”
He locked my car and followed me as I opened my front door and walked inside. He closed it behind him. The first thing I did was turn down the AC. When Samuel had gotten sick, we’d had AC installed as he easily got overheated, and now that we were having a hot spell, I appreciated it. Not many houses here had central air.
“Have you eaten?” Tomás asked.
Oh, good question. When had I last eaten? “Not since lunch. I was making dinner when I got called in again, first for a suspected heart attack and then to do an ultrasound. Never got to actually eat.”
“Go sit. I’ll make you something.”
Tomás was going to make me dinner? That was new. Not that I objected. It had been a long time since anyone other than my parents had done something like this for me, and I wasn’t too proud or stubborn to accept. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that. I’m sure there’s stuff in the fridge to make something.”
Apparently, those vague instructions were enough, and I plopped down in my favorite reading chair, kicked off my shoes, and closed my eyes.
“Fir,” a voice said softly, and I blinked. What had happened? “You gotta eat something before you go to sleep.”
