There’s a small frown between his brows, showing how he’s really feeling.
Unable to stop myself, I reach out and smooth the lines.
“I’ll be okay now,” I promise him.
As if we’re drawn together like two magnets, his own hand lifts, tucking a loose lock of hair behind my ear before wrapping it around the back of my neck.
His touch burns in the best kind of way.
“But if you’re not, just say.” His eyes beg me to agree. As if I’m strong enough right now to argue.
“Okay,” I whisper, afraid to be louder and ruin our moment.
He shuffles closer until his forehead presses against mine.
The air crackles as his eyes burn into mine, and I suck in a sharp breath, relieved I managed to brush my teeth before leaving the apartment.
“I wish I could be sick for you,” he confesses.
A smile twitches at the corner of my mouth. Even though that’s not possible, he’s here. He showed up for me, and he’s taking care of me. Or at least, that's what I think he’s doing. And I can’t ask more of him than that.
“Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
Long before I’m ready, he takes a step back and closes me in.
After putting my suitcase into the back seat, he joins me at the front.
“I stopped on the way and picked this up for you,” he confesses as he hands the grocery bag over. “When you didn’t message after your coffee delivery, I called Sienna. She said you had morning sickness, so…” He trails off as I rummage through the bag. “It probably won’t help. But I looked online, and that was all suggested, so I just thought…if it’s shit, just toss it in the trash, but?—”
I place my hand on his thigh. The second he registers my touch, he swallows his words.
“It’s all perfect,” I assure him. “Thank you. It was really thoughtful.”
His grin starts small, but as he accepts my words, it grows into the most heart-stopping smile.
“Yeah?” he asks, glancing over at me with hope in his eyes.
“Yeah, really.” And to prove my point, I pull the packet of ginger cookies out and rip it open.
I’ve tried a few of the common suggestions to help with morning sickness over the last few weeks. I’m not sure anything has really helped. But I’m more than willing to keep trying, because you never know. And anyway, now that I’ve fully emptied my stomach, I’m ravenous.
“Is that…is that a good idea?” Everett asks, his expression tight.
“Don’t worry, I won’t vomit in your fancy truck,” I assure him as I nibble on the cookie.
He doesn’t look convinced, but he also doesn’t pull over.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about what kind of building Everett lived in. In my head, it’s a new modern build. Probably a little like the one I recently left.
But as he begins to slow and hits the blinker to turn into an underground parking garage, I’m proven very, very wrong.
“You live here?” I blurt.
He glances over at me.
“Yeah, why?”
I shake my head. “It’s just not what I imagined.”
