“They’re on their way,” he said, moving beside her and crouching down next to the bed to talk to Monica. “Can I take your temperature, Monica?” he asked, his voice full of warmth.
Jess loved the manner she’d seen him use when people were sick, so gentle and respectful. So different from his television character. She pictured him caring for her and blushed. Had he shown her more care, or just been doing his usual doctor thing? Part of her hoped it was the former.
Handing over an ear thermometer from her medical bag, Nate took Monica’s temperature. With his attention elsewhere, she could take him in; allow her eyes to wander over his muscular forearms, which were now visible beneath his rolled up sleeves. Arms that had held her close more than once. The temptation to trace the veins up from his wrists to his elbows made her heart catch in her throat.
He tipped the thermometer screen towards her to show Monica’s temperature, snapping her out of her thoughts and sending heat to her cheeks for a second time.
She cleared her throat.
“Not good,” she said, trying to sound professional instead of like someone who’d just been ogling him.
Monica’s temperature wasn’t drastically high, but still raised. Older people often showed other signs of serious illness, such as confusion, and Monica certainly hadn’t made a lot of sense since they’d been in her room. It wasn’t a Sunday and, from the conversations she’d had with Monica on set, she was pretty sure her husband Lance had passed away several years ago.
When the ambulance arrived, Jess and Nate helped Monica onto the gurney, and Jess called the film set to see if Monica’s emergency contacts were listed.
By the time they’d finished their rounds, it was nearing dinner.
“If I don’t eat something soon, I’m going to start on the mouldy sandwich I saw in the back,” Jess said, sitting in the passenger side as Nate drove her back to her car.
Nate screwed up his nose. “Is there a mouldy sandwich back there?” He twisted his head to get a better look in the back of the borrowed car and frowned. “I’d hate to think how long that’s been there. I don’t want to be cleaning more vomit, so let’s get you fed quickly.”
“What about everyone else?” Jess asked, realising they hadn’t quite finished for the day. “At least half won’t be up to making their own dinner, but should eat something. And if Monica is out, no-one’s cooking.”
Gratitude for Nate being there when she was sick rose up in her for the second time that day. When the toast and packet soup stayed down, he’d cooked her a beautiful, simple meal of chicken and vegetables. Exactly what she’d needed to get her strength back.
“Good point,” Nate said. “I have the perfect soup recipe, if you’re up to a stop at the supermarket?”
Brilliant, kind man. She couldn’t help herself. Nate had won her over, and now, like a stupid teenager, she had a full-blown crush.
“I’m feeling up to it. I definitely need to eat something before we cook though, so I don’t eat all the ingredients before we’re done.”
“Of course,” Nate said, pulling into the Rangiora supermarket carpark. “Your stomach is my number one priority.”
Unprovoked, her thoughts instantly went to Nate’s hands on her the night they’d kissed. Caressing her shoulders gently. Running his fingertips down her arm. She’d wanted to yank off her pyjama top and feel his skin against hers. To feel it burn with his touch. She bit back the urge to groan, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth.
“All good?” Nate asked, pulling the car into a park.
She turned to look out the window, trying to hide the desire she was sure must be all over her face.
“Um, yes. Totally.” Get a grip, she told herself, shaking off the heat working its way up into her chest. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”
BACK AT THE COTTAGE, Nate unpacked the groceries onto the kitchen bench and found a large soup pot and chopping board.
“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” Jess said, her mouth half full of sushi roll. He loved that she didn’t seem to care about manners. He’d had them beaten into him as a kid, but around Jess he could relax.
“You sit and eat. I’ve got this.” He didn’t want her to tire herself out, and he knew this recipe inside and out.
“I can do something,” she protested. “Not onions though. You can do those.”
“You’re still recovering. And there are no onions in this one. How about being in charge of the playlist for us?”
Jess lifted her eyebrows. “You might regret that. No take backs.”
“I trust you.”
“Timeless Hits of the 80s coming up.” Jess folded her legs under her on the couch, finishing off her sushi and flicking through her playlists before filling the lounge with the Eurythmics.
Nate laughed, caught off guard. “Now, that’s a surprise. I thought you’d be into EDM or, I don’t know, whatever they play at nightclubs these days.”
