I get the water heating up, and Tyler returns a minute later with a fresh pair of pajama pants, one of my oversized shirts, and a pair of underwear. I’m too drained to be embarrassed that he went into my underwear drawer.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “I won’t be long.”
“Take however long you need.” He motions to the laundry room on the other side of the hall. “I’m going to get your sheets and blankets in the wash. Which detergent is yours?”
“The blue bottle.”
“Great, thanks.” He disappears back into my bedroom. I’m not sure what alternate reality I’m living in right now—or maybe I’m hallucinating everything. But wherever I am, a nice, warm shower is calling my name.
I feel a little better when I step out of the tub. My worn tee and pajama pants are soft against my clean skin. I brush my tangled hair, apply some moisturizer to my face, and brush my teeth before dropping off my dirty clothes in my hamper in the laundry room.
I attempt to walk downstairs to get a glass of water and maybe something to eat, but my body still feels exhausted, and I slump down on a step halfway down the staircase. I jump when Tyler appears around the corner, taking the stairs two at a time to reach me, with Winston following at his feet.
“You’re still here,” I squeak, trying to hide my wince from my scratchy throat.
“I’m here, sweetheart.” Tyler lifts me in his arms and carries me down the steps like I’m light as a feather. He sets me down and helps me sit at the kitchen table. “I brought a few thingsfor you earlier.” He walks to the island and pulls out a mini pharmacy worth of medicine from a bag on the counter. “How are you feeling?”
“It’s nice to feel clean, but I’m pretty exhausted.” I rub my neck, every word I say feeling like sandpaper rubbing my throat raw. “Got anything for a wicked sore throat?”
Tyler pulls out a mini spray bottle. “Spray this into your mouth toward your throat. It tastes like honey.”
I do as instructed, deciding it’s best to trust the medical professional in the room. The relief I feel is instantaneous.
“Better?”
I nod. “Got any food in those bags?”
He pulls out a brown bag from the fridge. “I can reheat it in the oven.” He reaches inside the bag and pulls out a sandwich.
Tears instantly pool in the corners of my eyes. “Is that—” I swallow down my thick emotion. “Is that a Hot Brown?”
“Sure is.”
“Who told you?” My voice is barely a whisper, choked with emotion.
“You told me it’s your comfort food whenever you’re sick. That your mom always got you them growing up.” He shrugs casually. “I figured you were too sick to get it yourself this time.”
The memory hits me. I told him that on ournon-date. The one Darla set us up on. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“I remember a lot of things about you, Anderson.”
I drop my gaze to hide my blush…and to avoid whatever hidden meaning is behind his words. I’m not ready to deal with whatever feelings he’s having—or that I’m having—right now.
He clears his throat. “Do you think you can eat it? I picked up some chicken noodle soup if you want something more bland.”
“The Hot Brown is perfect.” No matter how sick I am, it’s usually the only thing I can stomach.
I watch as he navigates my kitchen, opening a million drawers to find what he needs but not letting me get up to do anything.
The feeling is unfamiliar. But I think he’s…taking care of me. No man has ever catered to my every need like this before.
I’m practically falling asleep at the table again when he sets the sandwich in front of me, along with a steaming mug that smells like minty tea. He returns upstairs to move the laundry while I eat half of my meal, starving since I’ve emptied my stomach in the last twelve hours. But I know not to overdo it and eat the whole thing. I sip the tea, and it tastes of peppermint and honey, warming me from the inside.
“You get enough?” Tyler reappears, perusing my plate.
“Yeah, I’ll finish it later if my stomach does okay.” Before I have the chance to put the leftovers in the fridge, he grabs my plate and does it for me. He walks back over as I’m yawning.
“That answers my next question.” He smirks. “Come on. Let’s get you in bed.” Without asking permission, he slings my arm over his shoulder and pulls me into his side, taking most of my weight as he helps me up the stairs and back to my room. I raise an eyebrow, and his eyes twinkle with amusement. “Don’t worry, I won’t get in with you.”
