“Well, be careful, and call me anytime,” Liza said. “And also call me to dish about you and Flynn, once you’re feeling a little better.”
Ruby laughed, which turned into a fit of coughing. “Will do.”
She and Liza wrapped up their conversation, and Ruby finished her soup. After she’d eaten, she took her medication and stood in a long, hot shower, letting the steam help break up the mucous in her lungs. Then, she spent the next fifteen minutes hunched over a box of tissues, coughing it all up. She’d just settled on the couch with her e-reader when the doorbell rang again.
This time, it would be Flynn.
Heat rolled through her belly, generating sparks that pinged through her whole body, flooding her with so much adrenaline that she was able to walk downstairs almost as quickly as a healthy person. She paused at the door, glancing down at her loose T-shirt and leggings, picturing her shower-damp hair and lack of makeup. Well, it couldn’t be helped.
She pulled the door open. Flynn stood on her doorstep in jeans and an emerald green polo shirt, looking so ridiculously handsome her knees actually trembled at the sight.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” He stepped forward, took her hands in his, and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Thank you for letting me come.”
“You didn’t leave me much of a choice, did you?” she teased, but she was so glad to see him, she couldn’t put any heat into the words. She gestured for him to follow her up the stairs to her flat. He carried a black duffel bag and a briefcase, which he set down inside the door, looking around with interest.
“Nice place.”
She leaned against the doorway, taking shallow breaths as she recovered from the exertion of the stairs. “It is, especially considering I needed something so last minute.” The flat consisted of an open living space with a couch and a galley kitchen. There was a small row of windows near the ceiling that let in natural light. Two doors on the right-hand side of the room led to the bedroom and bath.
“You look good, all things considered,” he said, one hand sliding through her hair to cup her cheek as he looked her over.
“All things considered?” She led the way toward the couch.
“I mean, you’re a little pale, but I was expecting you to look a lot sicker than you do.” He gave her one of those classic Flynn grins, the kind that had melted her resolve right from the first moment they met.
“I’m not on my deathbed, I promise.” She curled up on the couch, pulling a throw blanket over herself as she settled against the pillow she’d put there earlier.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed, though?”
She shook her head, gesturing for him to sit with her. “I’m more comfortable here. It’s easier to keep my head elevated. If I lay flat, I cough more.” As if she’d jinxed herself with the words, she doubled over in a coughing fit, big, wracking coughs that left her gasping for breath.
He sat beside her, rubbing her back until the spasms subsided. “Can I do anything? Get anything for you?” His gaze fell on the portable oxygen tank by the wall, and alarm flashed in his eyes.
“I don’t use it much,” she told him. “It helps keep my oxygen levels up if I need to be on my feet for a while.”
“Well, you won’t need to be now that I’m here,” he said resolutely, his hand still resting protectively on her back. “What can I do for you?”
“Water would be nice, actually,” she murmured, clearing her throat as another cough bubbled up from her chest.
He stood and went into the kitchen, returning a minute later with a glass of water, which she took gratefully.
“Thank you.” She gulped down about half the glass and set it on the table in front of her. “Did you really fly here on a private jet?”
He took her feet and laid them over his lap, adjusting the throw blanket to keep her warm. “I took a charter from Wales to London and flew commercial from there.”
“You’re so fancy,” she whispered with a smile.
He rubbed her feet absently, giving her a tender look. “How are you, really?”
“I’m prone to crap like this,” she told him. “As long as I take care of myself, I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”
He leaned back, seeming to relax as if he’d finally decided she really was going to be okay. “Anything good on?” he asked, tipping his head toward the TV on the far wall.
“It’s all in French,” she told him with a smile.
“I have my ChromeCast in my bag,” he said. “It’s a device that lets you send shows and movies from your phone or laptop to the TV. I always bring it with me when I travel.”
