He carefully tucks a stray hair out of my eyes. “So what do we do about this?”
“Kiss me,” I say softly, running fingers along his beard. “And then after that, hold me close, and we can sleep. I’m too tired to do anything but soak up all the happy feelings.”
“Happy to oblige your list of demands.”
“I’m not demanding anything?—”
But when he curls an arm around me to pull me close, and he presses his lips to mine, I wish I’d demanded more.
Like a promise we’ll do this forever.
thirty-seven
CHLOE
“Mom, I don’t feel good.”
Five words that always shift my world into a quiet panic.
My hands immediately go to Phoebe’s forehead, then behind her neck, cringing at the heat radiating from her little body. I’m surprised we made it this far into the season without a bigger incident.
“Be right back, bug,” I murmur, then rush out of her room toward my bathroom, where I tucked away our thermometers and children’s meds when we moved in.
I probably should’ve just left them in her room when I heard her cough earlier. That’s what I’m thinking about when I almost plow into Aiden as he’s coming out of our room.
He catches me, his brows knit in concern. “Where’s the fire, Chlo?”
“Phoebe’s sick. I need to check her temperature,” I say, brushing past him to grab what I need. Soon, the pockets of my robe are filled with everything I imagine I’ll need.
I don’t give him a chance to ask more questions, because I’m running back toward the stairs. It technically doesn’t matter what the thermometer says; I know her body.
And because of that, I pause at the bathroom immediately outside her room, and wet a cool washcloth, squeezing out the excess water. Then I fill a mouthwash cup with just enough water to chase the medicine.
“Sit up a little so you can take this,” I urge, sitting on the edge of her bed.
Her face crumples. “Is it bubble gum?”
“Berry. Or you can try to swallow the pill this time.”
She shakes her head, and I retrieve the bottle from a pocket of my robe. Within about thirty seconds, she’s downed the liquid, and I tuck the wet washcloth behind her neck.
“It hurts, Mom,” she whimpers.
“I know, baby. But it’ll help.”
I take the other hand and check her temperature with two different thermometers. It might seem like overkill, but she’s always run high temperatures, and our pediatricians never seemed to agree on which one was more accurate.
This time, it doesn’t matter. She’s steering upward of 103.5°F.
“What’s wrong?” Aiden asks, appearing over my shoulder.
“High fever.” Guilt settles between my shoulder blades. “She wasn’t running anything before I went to bed. But I knew—I could’ve prevented this.”
His arms come around me, soothing some of my nerves.
“I know I’m new to parenting, but I don’t think you can prevent fever.”
I twist so I can look at him better. “She always spikes fast. I know her patterns, so I sometimes give her meds before, so it won’t get as high.” I sigh. “I just hate to do that because they say a little fever is good, so they can fight it off.”
