He clears his throat and looks away. “I know. That’s why I, um, brought you some supplies. And I thought maybe you could use the company.”
“All I need is privacy,” I say, pouting. “So I can finish crying in peace.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking again,” he fumbles, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “Is there anything I can get you before I go?”
My bleary eyes run over him. “Did you really drive all the way from Baton Rouge?” He shrugs again, and I sigh. “I can’t exactly send you back home now, can I?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m getting used to the drive.”
“Well, you might as well get me a towel from the closet while you’re in here.”
Rowan nods quickly and fulfills my request, setting a clean towel beside the bathtub. My chin trembles as I stare down at it.
“Actually, could you just …” But my voice breaks off before I can finish, and he hurries to pick up the towel and spreads it open.
“Claire?”
I choke on another sob, unable to answer him.
“Come on, I’ve got you,” he offers in a soothing tone.
“Promise you won’t look at me?”
“My eyes are already closed,” he declares, but I nod anyway.
He holds the towel out for me as I step out of the tub, then he wraps me up and immediately pulls me in for a hug.
My shoulders shake as I continue bawling my eyes out, but heonly molds his body more closely to mine, alternating gentle shushes and whispering, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” I fist his shirt in my hands as he strokes my back.
“I’m getting you all wet,” I wail.
“Are you more worried about the tears or the bathwater? Because I couldn’t care less about either,” he muses, and I smile in spite of my mood. But he pulls back and narrows his eyes as he studies me with mock concern when I don’t continue our banter with an even cruder joke.
“I know, I know. Missed opportunity,” I say, making him laugh.
“Do you need me to get your clothes?” he ventures once my weeping finally evolves into sniffling.
“My robe is hanging behind the door.”
He flashes me a dimpled smirk before he turns to pluck the robe from a hook, then squeezes his eyes shut again as he unwraps the towel and waits for me to dress.
“Thank you,” I say with a sniff once I’ve tightened the belt around my waist, and he opens his eyes. “Wait for me in the living room?” I ask shyly, and he nods and leaves me in the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
Once I take a few minutes to tend to my lady business and throw on some of my comfiest pajamas, because of course Aunt Flo has decided to make her grand entrance, I wrap myself up in the robe and venture out to find Rowan resting on the couch with Frankie and Oscar. I can’t help the small tug on my lips.
“Hey,” he greets me. “She lives.”
“You know, every four-to-six weeks I have this day where nothing goes right, and I’m so depressed and disgusted with myself that I can’t even fathom going on … then my period arrives, and suddenly everything doesn’t seem so bad. But I’m somehow taken completely by surprise when it happens again a month later,” I explain, crossing my arms over my middle.
He stands, his smile growing wider. “Those hormones are tricky, from what I hear.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I wasn’t sure what usually makes you feel better, so I kind of grabbed a little of everything,” he says, gesturing toward the small grocery haul on the kitchen counter. He goes over to pull out a few different pints of ice cream, a tub of hot chocolate mix, and a wide selection of candy, some of which include peanuts. I swallow hard when he shows me a bag with a variety of tampons and pads next.
“I didn’t tell you it was my period when we texted earlier.”
“You didn’t have to,” he whispers conspiratorially.
