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“See? Now this is pretty.” He held up the piece of smooth blue glass I’d found the day he’d first come to dinner. That felt so long ago now, way more than a couple of weeks. He ran a finger over a weathered piece of metal that had likely started life as a belt buckle. The way he gave more than a cursory glance to each item made my shoulders lift and chest expand.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“I like your treasures. Some of this would fetch a pretty penny at one of the antique places. It’s not junk.”
“Yeah.” A prickle raced up my spine. I might not survive being this understood.
“Come here.” He pulled me into his lap, then winced. I immediately tried to shift, but he held me tight. “Stay.”
I obeyed because his lap was fast becoming one of my all-time favorite spots, but I studied his face carefully. His skin tone was pale. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Me? Yeah. I’m fine.” He kissed my temple, but I wasn’t so sure I believed him.
Fifteen
Adam
I was not fine. I’d spent several hours telling Quinn I was fine while knowing perfectly well one of my migraines was coming on. I’d pushed it all week, too many long hours and late nights, not enough hydration for the upswing in temperatures, and too much bar food. And possibly it was a full moon or something else woo-woo because sometimes the headaches sprung up no matter what I ate or drank or how I slept. I hated the randomness and crappy timing. Quinn was sexy and funny and had a room needing paint. He didn’t need a cranky Daddy, and he absolutely didn’t need another patient.
So naturally, I didn’t ask him for anything, not even an over-the-counter pain med. Instead, I allowed myself to get worse and worse until the final coat of paint was nearly finished, and we were working on touch-ups.
“We could order pizza if you want,” Quinn offered, adding to a discussion about food options. But my rising pain kept making me space on the conversation, and I was increasingly sure it didn’t matter what we did for dinner because mine would come right back up. I’d let the pain grow from a chisel to a dental drill to a jackhammer rather than have to cut out early from the painting, and now I had to pay the piper. Hell, I couldn’t even reply, could only focus on my breathing.
“Adam?” Quinn sounded alarmed as he crossed the room to come crouch next to where I was working on some trim.
“Sorry.” I slumped back on my heels, even kneeling to do trim was too much. “Not…doing the best. Order what you want.”
“You’re sick. What’s wrong?” Yup. Here came Quinn’s highly capable Dr. Strauss persona, feeling my forehead and reaching for my wrist, all concerned eyes and furrowed brow.
“Headache.” No sense in lying at this point, and I didn’t need him thinking it was something worse than it was. “Migraine. I get them.”
“Is this different from your usual? Any light auras or—”
“Gonna hurl.” I struggled to my feet and made a mad dash to his master bathroom, where the brighter light threatened to incinerate my eyeballs while I got epically sick.
And then, blessedly, the light was gone. Darkness. A cool hand on my arm helping me up and another sponging off my face.
“You don’t have to…”
“Pretty sure I took an oath that says otherwise,” Quinn countered dryly, continuing to blot at my face with the wet cloth. “But also, you’ve seen me puke. We’re even now. Mouthwash?”
“Thanks.” I accepted the bottle and little cup.
“God. That might come up too,” I groaned after rinsing my mouth.
“You’ve had headaches this bad before?” He was still very much in doctor mode, and I half-expected him to pull out a pad to start taking notes.
“Many times. Worse even. I’m not at ER-level bad here. Just need a minute.” Venturing back into his room, I collapsed on the edge of the drop cloth-covered bed.
“And meds. Where are yours? You have a prescription, I’m assuming, since this happens often?”
“Yeah. I have a bottle.” I waved my hand weakly. “At home. Can’t drive once I take it, so I don’t keep it on me. Gimme a second, and I’ll head out—”
“You will not. I’ll drive you.” He was all matter of fact, gathering up the brushes we’d been using and putting lids back on the paint.
“You don’t need to trouble yourself for me.” It was weird having someone take care of me like this, especially someone outside of my family. And even with them, I was far more comfortable being the one doing the rescuing.
“It’s not trouble.” He gave me the sternest look I’d ever seen from him, a glimpse of the sort of respect he had to command at work. “Don’t make me threaten the kind of spanking neither of us will enjoy.”
