“You don’t need to—” I stop when I see the look on his face that tells me he’s tired of me telling him what he doesn’t need to do. “Go ahead, use whatever you need.”
“Do you have any allergies I should know of?”
“No.”
“All right. Try to rest. I’m going to get cooking. If you need me, I’ll be right here, okay?”
I nod, unable to form words as fatigue hits me hard, and within seconds, I fall asleep.
Blinking slowly, I awaken from my nap, no longer freezing like I once was. I throw off my blanket, my eyes doing a double take when I notice Quentin sitting in the love seat, watching me. The room is darker than before, telling me it must be the evening.
“How long was I out for?” I croak and clear my dry throat as I sit up.
“About three hours,” he tells me. “Are you hungry?”
I take a minute to check in with my body, realizing I don’t feel nauseous anymore.
“I think I can eat,” I tell him, moving to stand when he jumps up.
“Sit. I’ll get it.”
“I’m not dying,” I grumble.
“You’re too important for me to let that happen,” he replies, the warmth in his voice trailing from the kitchen and wrapping around me.
I’ve never had someone wait on me hand and foot like this, nor been so concerned about me having a common sickness.
It’s…nice. Knowing that for once I don’t have to force my body to move and take care of itself.
Quentin returns with a bowl of soup and a plate of bread that smells better than anything I’ve eaten in a long time.
“You made this?” I ask in disbelief as he sets it on the coffee table.
“I spent a lot of time in the kitchen as a teen, because I wanted to gain valuable skills I would need in the future.”
I huff a laugh at that. He was such a responsible kid, meanwhile I was the complete opposite.
“Any free time I had from gymnastics as a teen was spent with Clara and Kaya, either shopping, hanging out at each other’s houses, or going to parties,” I tell him as I lift a spoonful of the soup to my lips and swallow.
Holy shit. This is incredible.
I can cook a few basic things, but this tastes like something you would get at a five-star restaurant.
“What were your grandparents like?”
“My grams was a sweetheart. She took care of us and although I could tell she was upset at my mother for how she left, she never let it show. And my pops…” I huff as my lips form into a smirk. “He was the funniest man I knew. Always the life of the party. Whenever I was sick as a kid, he’d grab puppets and make up the craziest stories.”
And it hits me then why I feel sadness today at their memory. It’s because I miss how they would take care of me when I was sick.But the fact that Quentin is taking care of me the same way they did lessens the ache.
“They sound like amazing people.” His voice is soft as he speaks, and I nearly let a tear fall at his words.
“They really were,” I turn away, blinking my eyes rapidly to avoid crying in front of him again. I don’t like crying in front of people.
I hear him get off the couch, my eyes swinging to him as he makes his way to the kitchen.
“What are you doing?”
He opens my junk drawer, then grabs a pen and a pad of paper. “I remembered seeing this in here earlier when I was looking for the things I needed to cook. Give me a minute.”
