She shrugs shyly. “I suppose all I can do is pray for a nice, seizure-free spell. And in the meantime, I’ll luckily be living with an actual doctor—a really good one. Right?”
She sounds like she might be looking for my reassurance, but my mind is already reeling, sorting through the details of her situation in search of a practical solution. “There’s gotta be something we can do. I’ll call the pharmaceutical company tomorrow to see if I can get you a rebate or some samples of your medication.”
“That would actually help a lot, thank you.” She reaches out to squeeze my forearm, and I barely resist flinching at the contact. “I don’t know how I’d get through all this without you, Landry. You’re practically my guardian angel at this point,” she continues anyway.
“I’m no angel,” I blurt out harshly. She turns her big, round eyes back to me, and I clear my throat in an attempt to soften my tone. “I owe it to Rowan to look after you, don’t I?”
“You don’t owe my brother anything,” she says, shaking her head.
I swallow hard. “He’s been good to me over the years. Better than my real family most of the time. The least I can do is treat you like family, too.”
“Are you sure you’re not just being nice because you’re a good person?”
“It’s probably because I can’t help thinking of you as another little sister since you’re just as persistent and stubborn as the one I grew up with.”
She bites her lip and looks down at her sewing again. “Well, regardless of your motives, I’m grateful. And I’m not going to stop reminding you of it until you learn to accept a compliment.”
My chest warms a bit, and I laugh softly as I reach up to rub it without thinking. “I can see that.”
I notice the way her cheeks flush, and they grow even darker when she catches me staring. She tucks her long hair behind her ears, exposing her neck and shoulders again, then her eyelashes flutter and her lips turn up into a demure smile.
Is she … trying to flirt with me?
No, of course not.
Maybe she’s embarrassed? I suppose referring to her as my baby sister might have made her feel worse, especially given the fact that she’s not adulting so well.
Either way, I can’t acknowledge it without opening up an inconvenient and inappropriate can of worms.
“Don’t worry about the insurance stuff. We’ll figure this out,” I tell her brusquely, then I get up and walk into the kitchen without waiting for her response.
I realize I’m actually hungry once I get there, and I dig around in the pantry before settling on a snack. “So what are we attempting to make for dinner tonight?” I call out after a while.
“I found a new TikTok recipe for scrambled eggs,” she jokes from the living room.
I return with a bowl of popcorn and sit beside her again. “Is that really the only thing we can make between the two of us?”
“After the great peanut butter cookie debacle earlier this week, I’m afraid we’re limited to omlets and sandwiches, at least for now,” she says longingly.
“Maybe we should find a cooking show to record or something.” I grab the remote again and pull up the guide.
“I was also thinking we could look into one of those meal delivery kits,” she adds, going to trade her sewing project for her phone and inadvertently bumping the new hire forms I left on the coffee table earlier. “Crap on a cracker,” she protests as we both reach for the papers scattered on the floor. Our fingers brush, and a spark zaps through me from our point of contact. I yank my hand back and mumble an apology before returning to the couch, chalking it up to static electricity.
She finishes cleaning up and gestures to the forms with a sigh. “It’s too bad you can’t add me to your insurance policy, right? I could have paid you back for my half of the premium.”
I laugh shortly as she joins me on the couch and dips her hand into the bowl of popcorn. “No kidding.”
“With the way so many people avoid commitment and refuse to get married these days, you’d think they’d make living together the only prerequisite for coverage,” she continues, almost sounding sad about it.
“No—you’re right. Maybe there’s some kind of loophole,” I say thoughtfully before handing her the bowl and picking up the paperwork. She crunches on the popcorn and watches as I skim through the health insurance portion with a renewed purpose.
“Dammit,” I curse under my breath after a minute. “It says here that adult partners can only qualify for coverage with documentation of at least one of the following: legal marriage, civil union, current pregnancy, shared children or minor dependents, or domestic partnership of six months or longer.”
“Hmm. I don’t suppose it would be worth trying to forge the last part.”
I drop the papers onto the table again and sigh. “It’d be tough, but possible. We’d have to find a way to make it look like we lived together in Baton Rouge.”
“I doubt we could pull it off without my family’s help. And I don’t like the idea of flat-out lying to them or anyone else,” she says, sounding firm.
