She stares at me, swaying a little. “I’m sorry it’s such a mess,” she squeaks, her shoulders hunched. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
I shake my head, not the least bit put off. “It’s fine. You should see my place. Maybe you should sit down, though? You look like you might pass out.” I try to make light of it, but she only half-smiles and nods, then collapses back in a plop on the couch.
I set the grocery bags on the table and start unpacking—Tylenol, instant ramen, cans of soup, a bottle of lemon-lime Gatorade, and, for some reason, a box of Popsicles.
Aren’t those good for a sore throat? Maybe not. I don’t know.
“You look like you feel terrible,” I say, heading into the kitchen.
She snorts, then hacks up a cough. “You really know how to make a girl feel good.”
I fill her electric kettle with water and flip the switch. The kitchen’s barely functional, but I find a clean mug. From the corner of my eye, I catch Maddy trying to smooth her hair.
I can’t believe I actually did this, but I’m here now. May as well see if I can help her.
“So, would you like tea, soup, or a slow death?” I joke, while lining up the tea and soup on the counter for her to see.
“I think I’d actually prefer a slow death at this point. Something to look forward to,” she tries to tease back, but falls into a coughing fit again.
I eye her as she tries to stop. “Yeah, let’s go ahead and start with the throat-soothing tea then.” I pour the water as soon as the kettle goes off, add the teabag and some honey I picked up at the last minute, and bring it over. She tries to take it, but her hands aren’t steady, so I just set it on the side table and grab a tissue for her. She blows her nose with the resignation of someone who’s given up on dignity.
And I find it absolutely fucking adorable.
“Don’t get me wrong—I appreciate it, but why are you here?” she croaks, voice muffled by Kleenex.
I shrug, rolling my shoulders. “You seemed like you needed help.”
She glares at me, but still manages to look pitiful. “I’m not helpless, you know.”
“Everyone gets sick, Maddy. There’s nothing wrong with accepting help.”
She sighs, peering up at me with fever-flushed cheeks. “Well… I’m sorry you had to see this,” she mutters, gesturing at the clutter. “I swear, it’s not usuallythisbad.”
“Totally not judging,” I say, and then return to the tiny kitchen. I start heating up soup in the microwave in a pink-and-purple floral bowl I find. Despite the apartment being a more than a little bit chaotic, it feels homey.
When the microwave beeps, I bring the soup over to her. She motions to put it down on the coffee table next to the tea.
“I don’t think I’m hungry,” she mumbles.
“Just try,” I urge, basically shoving it into her hands. “You’ll feel better. It’s got antioxidants in it.”
She attempts to give me a challenging look. “Okay,Mom.”
I laugh, then sit beside her, careful not to crowd her. The comforter covers everything from her chin down, so I wait. Eventually, she frees a hand, and I place the bowl in her grip.
Her hand is hot, not the normal kind but the kind that means she’s burning up. She manages a spoonful, then a few more.
She gets about halfway through, then leans back with a sigh. “Okay, maybe Ididneed this. Thank you. Really.” She meets my gaze, her tired eyes tinged with a look of relief that makes my chest swell.
I smile at her, adjusting my suit jacket. “You want Tylenol?”
She shakes her head, eyes closing. “I’m good. Maybe I just need to sleep. You can go home. I’ll be fine.”
I purse my lips, still not convinced. “I can stay a bit, and make sure you don’t, you know…die.”
She tries to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. “I’m not planning on dying, Caleb.”
Damn, I like the way my name sounds on her lips.
