“Tripp, you don’t have to—“
“Don’t argue with me. Go change. Soak what you need to in the sink.”
I sigh in defeat as he shuts me back into the bathroom.
Keys jingle in the hallway. “Text me what brand and absorbency you want,” he calls, “or I’ll just get you what Allie uses.”
I groan. “You did not just ask me that.”
“It’s not a big deal, Quinnie,” he says, his voice warm. “I have a little sister. I know how this works. Make yourself comfortable until I get back.”
I change into the clothes he brought me and fill the sink with cold water to soak my underwear. Once I have everything situated and have texted him a picture of the brand of tampons I use, I make my way back to the couch. I stand and stare at the heating pad he placed in my spot, already plugged in and heated.
I slip under the blanket and rest the heating pad over my lower abdomen, letting the warmth ease the cramps tearing through my uterus. I try not to notice how the way he’s taking care of me makes my heart swell—how it leaves my insides all soft and gooey.
Teenage Quinn would be positively mortified, but thirty-two-year-old Quinn is just swooning over the fact he's voluntarily going to the store to buy me tampons without even being asked to.
Even though I know I shouldn’t, I allow myself a moment to wonder what it would look like to be with Tripp—reallybe with him. Not just checking items off a list but coming home to him after a long day on myfeet—to this—to him taking care of me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Forever.
It’s dangerous for me to let my mind linger on it, so I push play on the movie, trying to drown out those thoughts with background noise.
The movie’s only played a few minutes when Tripp waltzes back into the house with several bags, dropping them on the coffee table. He pulls out the box of tampons and hands it to me unceremoniously.
I retreat to the bathroom, grateful for the extra pair of boxers he’d brought earlier. On his insistence, I toss my soiled clothes into his washing machine and watch as he adds more of his laundry and starts the cycle.
Watching a grown man do laundry? Sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“What else did you buy?” I ask, peering at all the bags he’d brought in from his quick trip to town.
“Sit down and get comfortable. I’ll show you.”
Once I’m all cozy again, he pulls items out one at a time—like some sexy cowboy version of Mary Poppins. A giant bag of Peanut Butter M&Ms, a bottle of wine, a pack of Midol. When he pulls out a paper bag of chocolate chip cookies from the Cowboy Corner Café, my eyes fill with tears.
There’s no way the café is open at this hour. I have no idea how he got them. I’m a little scared to ask—and equally terrified of what it means that he’d go to that much trouble for me.
My stomach knots, tightening with a mixture of longing and apprehension. Every part of me is warring with itself—mind, heart, and body. I’ve lost all sense of the control I once thought I had when it comes to Tripp.
“Shit, Quinnie. Don’t cry. I was trying to be nice. If you don’t want any of it, you don’t have to eat it.”
“I’m not crying,” I blubber.
He cracks a grin. “Yeah, okay. Why are younot crying?”
His dimples do me in. I’m an absolute mess. A hormonal fucking disaster. There’s no stopping these tears. I’m stuck shedding them until I’m all cried out, but Tripp just sighs and wraps me up, my cheek pressed to his chest.
“You’re too nice to me,” I sob.
He looks down at me, brow furrowing. “You want me to be meaner?”
“It would make everything simpler if you were.”
For a moment, something flashes in his eyes—understanding, maybe—but he doesn’t say a word. He just holds me tighter until my emotions settle back into their neat little compartments.
He reaches for the bag of cookies.
“Here,” he says, handing me one. “Mrs. Mackey’s baking always helps.”
I take a bite of it and moan. We fall into a comfortable silence, the movie droning softly in the background, the heating pad radiating against my stomach. My eyelids get heavier with every passing minute.
