“Fuck. Paige,” Wyatt starts, then sets down Polly before standing up and walking over to me. One hand goes to my chin, the other my hip. He tilts my head up, forcing me to look into his eyes. “You’re right, we never defined anything. But be honest. What’s going on here, it’s…. Well, it’s something, isn’t it?” He leans in, and I see his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows. Something inside me flutters in response to his apparent hopefulness. He’s going to kiss me, and I don’t think I could withstand that right now while I am in such turmoil.
I turn away, thankful for the whistle of the kettle pulling my attention from him. “Yes. It’s something,” I say, avoiding looking at him. I lift the kettle off the heat, but before I can do anything else, Wyatt comes beside me and reaches to grab two mugs. The fact that he is familiar enough in my home to know where I keep mugs is such a small thing, but it hits me with a heavy thud straight to my heart. I go to another cupboard and take out the honey and set it beside the mugs.
“Why don’t you let me do this.” Wyatt’s hands come to my shoulders, and he steers me out of the kitchen. “You go and run a hot bath, I’ll make your tea and get you settled.”
He’s being so kind. So thoughtful. I twist under his hands, ready to protest, to say I’m not that unwell, even though the truth is, my headache is getting worse and my throat now feels like I am swallowing razor blades. Wyatt must sense my resistance because he pushes my shoulders more firmly.
“Go, baby. I can see you don’t feel great. Let me take care of you, please?”
His obvious desire to care for me, combined with the hopeful expression when he said he thinks there is something between us, is my undoing. The protective layer around my heart unravels as I feel my thoughts and dreams reconfigure into something new. Something not yet defined but includes Wyatt as a tangible part of my future. The uncertainty of it all is unnerving to say the least, but I don’t have the mental or physical capacity to analyze it any further today.
Instead, I do as he tells me and go to the bathroom. A soak in a hot bath does sound nice. I add some rose scented bath salts and light a candle on the counter. When the tub is full, I take off my clothes and climb in, sinking down in the warm water and closing my eyes. I hear Wyatt move into my bedroom, but I can’t quite determine what he’s doing. But only a few moments pass before he comes into the bathroom, his shirt gone, and he sinks to the floor beside the tub. He places a glass of water within reach.
“Your tea is on that electric mug warmer thing, waiting by your bed. I figured a cool drink might be nicer right now.”
His thoughtfulness touches me. But it’s the sight of him, barefoot and shirtless, in my candlelit bathroom that has me filled with yearning. More than physical, I want all of him. I want his heart.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. As I shift in the water, the sound of it sloshing against the tub draws his gaze away from my face. His eyes travel the length of my body, naked under the water, and I feel myself respond under the scrutiny. My nipples pebble and my legs draw together. Even though I am most assuredly unwell, I can no more deny my physical attraction to Wyatt than I could deny my emotional feelings for him. Feelings that are growing dangerously strong in light of his eventual departure.
The air around us crackles with something indescribable. Heat and arousal is evident in Wyatt’s eyes, but as soon as he meets my gaze, he abruptly stands. “I’ll leave you to it.” He turns as if to leave, but I’m not ready for him to go.
“Wait. You could…join me?”
A slight frown furrows his brow. “Paige, you’re sick.”
“I know. You’re right. Sorry. Thank you for the tea.” I close my eyes and sink down in the tub, wishing it could wash away my embarrassment. Of course he wouldn’t want to join me in the bath while I am unwell. There is no sexual appeal to my current state.
Hands come to my shoulders, gently pushing me forward. How he removed his clothes so quickly baffles me, but there is no mistaking his nudity as Wyatt climbs into the tub behind me. “Move up, baby.”
I shift forward, and his legs come around the outside of mine, then Wyatt tugs me backward until I’m reclined against his chest. His arms settle around me, scooping warm water and letting it run over my skin. His lips press to the top of my head.
“Didn’t I tell you I love hearing you ask for what you want?”
“Yes, but —”
“No buts, baby. Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t want to leave. I just know you aren’t feeling well, and I wanted to give you some space.”
“You make me feel better.” The confession pours out of me before I can stop it or think about how he may receive a statement like that. But I feel his lips curl up in a smile against the top of my head, and then his hand gently tips my chin up so he can reach my lips where he kisses me again. I try to pull back, making a noise of protest, but Wyatt is stronger, and holds me there for one more press of his lips.
“You’ll get sick, Wyatt.”
“I don’t care. You need to know I care about you, and I want to be here for you.”
Speechless, I can’t do anything except twist more fully so I can look at him, the steam making his hair around his face curl. I trace a droplet of water down his chest and lay my hand flat over where his heart beats strongly. Then, I take a deep breath, and for the first time in years, I let go and enjoy the sensation of being cared for.
Eventually, the water cools and Wyatt opens the drain with his foot before climbing out of the tub and grabbing two towels. He quickly ties one around his waist, then wraps me up in the other, rubbing his hands all over my body gently. The soft smile on his face is warm, caring, affectionate, and fills me with hope that perhaps my growing feelings are not one-sided. I know he said he feels there is something between us, and when I am not fighting off a cold, I resolve to ask him what he means by that. But for now, my head is pounding and I am exhausted. I let Wyatt steer me into the bedroom where he picks up his T-shirt and pulls it over my head. It smells like him and barely covers my torso. Wyatt leads me back into the bathroom, prepares my toothbrush, and sets a bottle of pain relievers beside me before leaving me with a wink.
“I’ll meet you in bed, baby.”
As I brush my teeth, realization hits me. He’s enjoying this.
Doting on me, even in small ways, like putting toothpaste on a toothbrush, is perhaps his way of demonstrating his feelings for me.
And that is enough for now.
When I’m finished, I open the door to the bedroom to see Wyatt standing beside the bed wearing nothing but his underwear. The duvet is drawn back, my tea still has a tendril of steam rising from it, and several candles are lit around the room. Exhaustion is hitting me, and all I care about is sleep. I walk past him, giving him a tired smile, and climb into bed, pushing the button to turn off the mug warmer underneath my tea.
“I think I’m too tired for that,” I say in response to his questioning glance. Wyatt nods, then pulls the duvet up, kisses my forehead, and straightens.
