“You should’ve texted me. You didn’t need to cook tonight.” Irun my fingers through her hair, the waves soft to the touch despite the slightly damp roots.
“I wanted to.”
Palming her cheek, I wait until her eyes meet mine. “Let me take it from here. You’re officially off duty.”
She offers me a small smile. “I won’t say no to that.”
“Can I get you anything?”
She shakes her head. “I’m good.”
“Okay, I’m going to get changed and then I’ll finish dinner.”
Taking care of her is something I’ve missed. I’d hoped her period pain would’ve improved over the years and it kills me she’s been going through it all alone.
I hurry down the hall, removing my suit jacket, vest, and unbuttoning my shirt as soon as I step into the master suite—the only place untouched by her. What I wouldn’t give to bring her to bed and hold her all night, especially while she’s not feeling well.
Since that’s not possible, I do the next best thing—I pull my phone out of my pants pocket and call down to the concierge.
“Front desk, how may I help you?”
“This is Grant Davenport. Is Will working tonight?”
“Mr. Davenport. Yes, sir. This is Will.”
“Hey, Will. I was hoping you could do me a favor. Can you go to the kitchen and see if we have any cookie dough ice cream? On second thought, would you run to the store and pick up a pint of that and a pint of fudge ripple?”
“Of course, sir. Anything else?”
I think back to the combination of snacks Taylor used to crave while she was on her period. “Cool Ranch Doritos.”
“I’ll have that up to you shortly, sir.”
“Thank you, Will. I really appreciate it.” I don’t call in favors from the staff often since I prefer to do my shopping and most other things on my own, but I don’t want to leave Taylor alone, and she said she wanted comfort food, so comfort food is what she’ll get.
I change into a white T-shirt and my favorite pair of worn gray sweatpants then head back to the kitchen. She’s still on the couch, with her head propped in her hand on the armrest and watching a movie instead of reading.
Pouring a glass of wine, I deposit it on the coffee table and take her water glass to refill it. She smiles gratefully as she takes a sip, and my muscles relax at being able to know what she needs. I toss together a quick salad while the lasagna finishes cooking and when it’s done, I slide garlic bread into the oven.
The buzzer on the penthouse door sounds and I open it to find Will with shopping bags from the grocery store a few blocks away. Taking them from him, I pass him a couple bills for a tip and send him on his way.
“Who was at the door?” Taylor’s sitting at the bartop where I set up our plates when I walk back into the kitchen.
“I asked the concierge to pick up some dessert,” I show her the two pints of ice cream before pulling the Doritos out of the bag as well.
“My favorites.” She beams up at me, rendering me speechless, and it darns on me just how completely head over heels in love with her I am.
The words are on the tip of my tongue, but instead, I say, “I remember.”
The timer on the bread goes off breaking the moment, and I spring into action, pulling the bread out before it burns. I plate our food and serve her across the counter before lowering myself onto the stool beside her.
“Are you sure you’re comfortable sitting up here?” I ask. “I can set you up on the couch instead.”
“Grant, your couch is too nice to risk spilling tomato sauce all over it.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“Well, I do. I’m okay, promise.” She rests her hand on my forearm. Goosebumps spread up my arm at the contact.
