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Beth stares back at me. Her glasses are slightly crooked on her nose. She’s got a trail of dried drool from the corner of her mouth down to her chin, but I still don’t think anyone in the world will ever be as beautiful to me as this woman.

This woman with the biggest heart, who was given an impossible hand in life but has used those hard experiences to try to do good in her small corner of the world.

Who is so determined to do good, she’s going to run herself into the ground if she’s not careful.

“I’m getting dinner with Calvin at your mom’s café on Thursday night.”

“Okay.” I swallow, digesting that information and trying to rearrange my features so I don’t look like I just slipped on the ice and cracked my tailbone. Of course I already knew about their dinner because I ran into Calvin at the bookstore. Which reminds me . . .

“Ivy says hi, by the way. She suggested you’d like some tea. Would you?”

Beth lets her head fall back on the couch cushions. “Yeah. But you don’t have to get it. I can do it.”

She makes a move to stand up, but I gently press my hand into her shoulder, making her stay seated. “I’ve got it.”

I locate her teakettle and settle it on the stovetop. “Do you want to go back to bed?” I call into the living room.

“Not really.” There’s shuffling behind me and Beth appears.

“I thought I told you to sit down.”

She slumps into the kitchen chair. “There. I’m sitting.”

“So stubborn.”

“I’m sorry.” She sighs. “I’m terrible at having people take care of me. I hate feeling so out of it.”

“I know. But I like taking care of you, so think of it this way . . . you’re doing me a favor.”

Beth scoffs. “I hardly think this is a favor. What if you get sick?” Her eyes widen and flash with horror. “Oh my gosh, what if you lose your voice before you have to film your big TV special?”

My mind jumps to Calvin, who was so concerned with getting sick. Truthfully, the thought crossed my mind. It would not be ideal if I came down with a respiratory situation right now. But I weighed the pros and cons, and Beth won out. Taking care of her trumps my concern about being exposed to whatever crud she’s carrying.

This is where Calvin and I differ.

I don’t say so, because I’m not about to be petty, and I want Beth to come to the conclusion that I’m the best man for her on her own.

“Beth, it’s okay. I hardly ever get sick.”

“That’s what I used to say,” she says morosely.

I chuckle. “I’ve been washing my hands like crazy. I’ll be fine.”

She still doesn’t look convinced.

I take the whistling kettle off the stovetop. “If I get sick, I have enough throat-care regimens up my sleeve that I can make it through any concert.”

I drop a tea bag into a Dash Away Books–branded mug I retrieved from her cabinet and pour steaming water over the top. I slide it across the table toward her.

“Quit worrying about everyone but yourself, Bethy. Drink your tea.”

She cups the mug between her hands. “Thanks for this. Thanks for everything,” she says more quietly.

“Anytime.” I sit across from her. “So, you don’t want to go back to bed?”

She shakes her head.

“How about a movie, then?”