“Fuck!” Thankfully, there wasn’t much in there and it mostly spilled on the carpet.
“Winnie?” Jonah calls out. “Are you alright?” he opens the bedroom door, and light from the hallway floods in.
“Yeah. I just need a shower. I’m disgusting.”
“You’re not well enough to shower.” Jonah crosses his arms and frowns.
“I’m fine!”
“You can barely stand. I’ll help you bathe.”
He crosses the room to me and lifts me out of the bed. Ilikebeing carried by Jonah. A lot. But damn it, I want him to carry me in a sexy way. Not because I’m too sick to walk on my own. I huff and let out a small growl.
“What’s wrong, Win?” He eases the door of the bathroom open and deposits me on the toilet.
“I don’t want you to see me like this! You’re my husband!”
“Exactly, sweetheart.” He brushes a damp lock of hair behind my ear. “If I can’t see you like this, then who can?”
I want to tell him that I was trained to always look my very best, especially in front of men. I want to say that Miss Alabama would never be so sick that her husband needed to bathe her. And if she was, she’d send him out of the house and figure out how to do it herself. By the time he got back, she’d be all better, a big smile stretching across her face. But I can’t organize my thoughts enough to say the words the right way, so I just sit there and pout.
Jonah cracks a smile at me. “I washed your hair the other day, and that wasn’t so bad.” He starts filling the tub, and pours in some of my bubble bath.
I start shivering on the toilet, the heat that claimed me minutes ago now gone. “But,” I say through chattering teeth, “that was a sexy shower. This is different.”
Jonah tips his head back and laughs, the sound swirling through the bathroom. I’d drink it if I could. I’d bottle it and sellit for a thousand dollars a bottle. A real one of a kind, top shelf, aged for ten years kind of laugh.
“That’s nice of you, Winnie. But I don’t think there’d be much market for my laugh. Now, for your smile, on the other hand. That would sell out.”
I frown at Jonah, because how the hell is he reading my mind?
“Damn, you really are sick,” he mutters. “Come here and I’ll help you in.”
I take Jonah’s hand, and his strong arms guide me down into the tub. I let out a moan as I sink into the hot water. He leans me back and dunks my hair in the water, and then he starts washing it.
I watch him the entire time. His forearms flexing as he pours the shampoo out into his hands. The gentle, firm way he scrubs my head. The concentration on his face as he helps me wash the suds out. He is so careful, so thoughtful, so intentional. He does things with purpose, with honor. Maybe that’s corny, but as he combs the conditioner through my hair, all I can think is that this is a man who would never hurt me, never leave me, never break my heart. The thought strikes me with such clarity that even my fever-addled brain grasps it.
He’s a better man than I ever thought I’d have. Back when I was a kid, I used to wish for someone just like him. Someone who would care about me—openly, tenderly, truthfully. With no ulterior motives.
And now I have him. The feelings bubble up inside me, and I start to sob, my chest heaving, my arms shaking.
“Winnie, Winnie, what’s wrong? Tell me.” Jonah cups my face in my hand, and strokes a thumb down my cheek.
“I love you,” I say, using my wet hands to wipe blindly at my face. I just end up getting water in my eyes, and flicking some on Jonah’s shirt.
Jonah’s eyes go soft, but he just says, “You’re sick.”
“No.” I haul myself into a standing position and point a finger at him. I probably look like an angry, drowned rat, but whatever. “Well, yes. I am very sick and I will need to take another three to four hour nap after this bath just to recover. But that doesn’t change the fact that I love you.”
Jonah grabs a towel off of the rack and wraps it around my shoulders. I step out of the tub and into his arms, and search his face for answers. Does he feel the same? It seems impossible that he doesn’t.
“I love you too, Winnie. And even if it’s just the fever talking, I still mean it.”
“It’s not the fever. I’m basically all better.” I scrunch up my nose at him.
“Come on sicky, let’s get you back to bed.”
Jonah swings me into his arms again and brings me back to the bedroom, where he dresses me in another set of his pajamas. He makes me drink some water, eat some soup, and take another pain killer. And then I drift back to sleep.
