My nose was now at least semifunctional, and a vise no longer squeezed my head in its steely grip. Arms and legs no longer ached, and the sun shining through the slats didn’t make me want to rip the blinds off the wall and toss them out the window.
The worst was over. Thanks to meds, more meds, and the soup Lachlan had left at my door, I was on the healing side of sick.
Yesterday afternoon Lachlan had sat outside my door and talked to me for hours. He’d refused to take my soup bowl until I’d eaten at least half. Which hadn’t been too much of a burden because his chicken soup had been a dish made of perfection and magic. And also very sweet.
These past few days as the not-so-walking dead had given me time to think about Lachlan. Even in my phlegmatic state, I’d had to admit the truth: Lachlan Hayes was not the same guy I’d known in college. Maybe he wasn’t even the same guy then either.
The grown-up version of Lachlan was kind, thoughtful, and quick with a joke or a home-cooked meal. I loved the sound of his rumbly, low-pitched voice, and the way his eyes held mischief as they followed me in a room. He’d been an attentive nurse since he’d returned home, and I’d welcomed the company instead of finding his presence something to tolerate.
And he’d left California early. For me.
Every time I thought about it, I felt like the heroine in a romance novel.
But did I want to be?
Stretching my arms, I reached for the phone. Twelve texts from Celeste. One from each of my family members, inquiring about my condition. Sylvie asked if Dr. Tall and Ginger had been taking good care of me.
Did Lachlan care for me? No, I couldn’t think on that today. Too much to do.
No matter how I felt, I had days of quarantine ahead. Now that the fog had dissipated, a familiar ache grew in my stomach over the thought of letting Celeste and my clients down. Plus, Lachlan needed more media training.
After a quick shower, I brushed my teeth, changed into some clean clothes, and crawled back into bed, laptop humming beside me.
“Olivia?” Lachlan’s voice passed through the closed door and slipped around my shoulders like a warm hug.
“Yes?”
“I heard the shower,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, but do not come in here. I mean it.” Scraps of conversations came back to me in random order. Had I told Lachlan I’d missed him?
I had.
I clapped my hand over my mouth and squeezed my bleary eyes shut. Oh, no.
Another memory floated through my consciousness.
Lachlan had said he’d missedme.
What were we supposed to do with that?
“I think I’m going to make it,” I called out, wondering if being ill had rattled my brain.
“Are you saying I need to cancel my help wanted ad for a new wife?” he asked.
“Afraid so.” I shut my laptop on Celeste’s last email. “We both know I’m irreplaceable.”
I heard a quiet laugh from the hall, then the jostling of plates. “I made us some breakfast,” Lachlan said. “I’m opening the door and pushing your tray in.”
“Are you masked?”
“Masked, gloved, and wearing body armor made of made of disinfectant wipes I taped together.”
He was none of those things, but Lachlan bravely entered my room, set down a tray, and closed the door.
“Don’t go downstairs yet.” I got up and padded across the room. “I saw that other plate. Stay and eat with me.”
“Feeling lonely in there?” he asked.
