Me:
Thanks, Rina.
Rina:
Make her your chicken noodle soup and take it over there.
I smile at my sister’s response. She plays hard-ass all day, but she probably cares more about people than most.
Me:
Yes, Ma’am. Can you call the nursery and tell them they’re on their own for a few days? I have enough people scheduled. They should be fine.
Rina:
Done.
I walk back to my kitchen and grab everything for the soup. I’ll just make it at Ainsley’s house so she can have it fresh.
Bags in hand, I load up everything I can think of that could help. I handled a lot of sick days when Lennox and Willow were younger, so I’m trying to remembereverything that helped them.
The drive is quick. Being down the road from each other comes in handy for times like these, apparently.
I load my arms with bags as I walk up to her front door and knock a little harder than I need to.
It takes her close to five minutes to open the door—I know, I timed it—and when she does, she has a blanket wrapped around her, her hair is in shambles, and her nose is bright red.
“Can I come in and take care of you? I brought stuff to make soup.”
Chapter 29
Ainsley
Those fucking kids are cesspools. I spend one weekend with them, and my body revolts and I get sicker than I have in years.
I know that’s not how sickness works, but that’s what it feels like, so I’m blaming them. It was probably Maddie’s fault. That attitude alone has to mean she’s carrying more germs than Gavin.
I’m currently curled up on my couch, surrounded by blankets and tissues, watching whatever food shows I can find. My head hurts, my nose is stuffed, and I’m freezing.
A knock sounds at my door, and I figure Larkin called my parents and they’re just checking up on me. I don’t really want to get out of my gross-ass cocoon, but they’ll freak out if I don’t answer. Shuffling to the door slowly, I yank open the door and am horrified to see it’s not my parents but my sweet boyfriend—is that what I’m calling him?—overloaded with bags.
“Can I come in and take care of you? I brought stuff to make soup.”
If that’s not the cutest thing in the world, I don’t know what is.
“I don’t want to get you sick,” I whine because I really want the soup, but getting him sick is a dick move.
He doesn’t respond, just gently pushes his way in and leads me to the couch.
“Sit. I’m going to get you some tea, and then I’ll start the soup.”
My eyes flood with tears as he walks to my kitchen.
Have I ever had someone take care of me that isn’t related to me?
The answer is never, and the thought causes big crocodile tears to spill over my lashes. I hate being emotional, hate crying. I learned to hide my emotions pretty early in my career, and I became very good at it.
But right now, I don’t feel good. Everything hurts, and the sweetest man I’ve ever met came over to take care of me without me asking. It’s too much for my very fragile heart.
