“Aren’t you supposed to be on the plane to Boston?” I whispered as he walked toward me. He had to be a mirage. A cold-inducedmirage.
“I changed my mind.” He took my hand and led me to the livingroom.
“But why? I thought you were looking forward to seeing yourgrandparents.”
He indicated for me to sit on the couch. “Do you really think I could go anywhere when you’re sosick?”
“It’s a cold, Josh—not the bubonicplague.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re supposed to be taking it easy for both yours and Noah’ssake.”
“I am taking it easy,” I said through my stuffy nose. Then coughed a really sexy, phlegm-laden noise. “Not that I’m not happy to see you or anything”—because I was. More than he could ever imagine—“but aren’t you worried about gettingsick?”
“If I get sick, I’ll deal with it. Anyway, I told my grandmother why I couldn’t make it for Christmas. She was more concerned about you and her great-grandchild. So she emailed her chicken noodle soup recipe, which is bound to help you feel ‘right as rain’ in no time. Her words, notmine.”
I laughed, which probably sounded worse than it normally did, then covered my mouth. Sparing him from the agony of listening to it. “Sorry.”
“Forwhat?”
“For laughing. I know it’s kind of a turnoff.” Which was why I couldn’t believe he was still around. But if it weren’t for the baby, he wouldn’t be. He’d be busy with puck bunnies andwhatever.
He didn’t laugh or smirk. He smiled as though I was being funny. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think your laugh iscute.”
I made a funny noise—which under any other circumstance that didn’t involve a cold would be a snorted laugh. “If I wasn’t already highly acquainted with your singing voice, I’d say you’re tone-deaf.”
“Anyway,” he said, ignoring me, “she emailed me the recipe for her famous chicken noodle soup, and I made you some. Stay here.” He left me on the couch and returned a minute later carrying a tray with a bowl of the world’s most delicious smelling soup. Even with my stuffy nose I could smellit.
He lowered the tray onto the coffee table and handed me the bowl and spoon. Careful not to burn myself, I sampled some. Did it taste as great as it smelled? No. It tasted to the nth powerbetter.
“You’re the best boyfriendever.”
“No, I’m the best boyfriend ever because I’m planning to stay and watch the Julie Andrews movie marathon with you.” He winked at me and left me on the couch, to return a short time later with his own bowl of soup, French bread, and an assortment of my favorite cheeses. He set them on the coffeetable.
And that wasn’tall.
He handed me a mug of something that looked suspiciously like the honey and lemon drink Gladys had made me. “Trent emailed me the recipe. He said the receptionist insisted I make it for you while you’resick.”
“You braved the grocery store Christmas Eve day just for me?” I asked in my God-you’re-so-sweettone.
“Of course. So which movie are we watchingfirst?”
“Have you ever seenThe PrincessDiaries?”
“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure,” he said with a smirk, and Ichuckled.
“Since it’s already Christmas in Australia,” I said, “I should call my familyfirst.”
Chris wasn’t staying in Sydney over the holidays—being the family black sheep that he was. He and his single mates had gone toBrisbane.
I called himfirst.
“Merry Christmas, sis,” he said. “And how’s my favorite nephew doing?” Hisonlynephew.
“He’s doing great so far and kickinglots.”
“Sounds like you have yourself a future football star, not a hockey player,” hesaid.
Were he and Simon still calling Josh the SpermDonor?
