“You gonna be able to get home okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll get a cab.” She smiles, and I find myself walking toward her.
“Have dinner with me.”
“I—” Her brows draw together, and she looks toward Maddi’s door.
“Not tonight,” I say, cutting her off. “Once Maddi’s better. Have dinner with me.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Just dinner. Casual, as friends.” I know those last two words are a lie, but I don’t feel bad about it. I will gladly lie through my teeth to get her to take a chance on me.
“Okay. Sure,” she agrees. “And if you need anything at all, let me know. My place isn’t far from here, so if you need help, I can be over pretty quickly.”
“Thanks. And thanks again for all your help.” I shove my hands in the front pockets of my slacks so I don’t grab her like I want to.
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
“It was.”
“I just did what anyone else would have done.” She has no idea how untrue that is. While Eva and I were married, she would take off to hang out with her friends whenever Maddi was sick, saying she couldn’t deal because then she’d get sick herself. It used to piss me the fuck off but, like everything else, I ignored it so there wouldn’t be a fight.
I don’t tell Courtney any of that, though. Instead, I move closer to her. “Text when you get home so I know you made it safe.”
“I’m only about a five-minute cab ride. I’ll be okay.”
“Text when you get home,” I repeat.
Her eyes flare with what looks like surprise and appreciation before she nods and picks up her purse, sliding it over her shoulder and then slipping on her heels.
I walk her to the door, then lean down and touch my lips to her cheek before I open it for her. “Have a good night, Courtney.”
“You too, Lucas,” she whispers right before she walks away.
I watch until she’s out of sight before closing the door. I lean my forehead against the frame, really hoping that my gut is right about this woman and that she really is as sweet and perfect as I think she is.
Chapter 5
TAKING CARE OF YOU
COURTNEY
My stomach turns, and I close my eyes, praying the nausea that’s been plaguing me for most of the day will end soon. It’s been three days since I helped Lucas with his daughter. Until today I’ve felt great—better than great. I have been secretly living on cloud nine and walking on air at the idea of seeing Lucas again.
I know it’s too soon to be thinking about spending time with another man, but I want to get to know him. I also want to see him with Madeline again. I don’t think I have ever seen a man so devoted to his child. Watching them together is beautiful. The evening I left his place, I texted when I got home as he’d asked me to. Since then, we’ve shared a few messages. Mostly him updating me about Madeline, who was feeling better the next day, which gives me hope for myself.
I pull my blankets up around my chin and shiver. I woke up this morning feeling a little off, but I didn’t think much about it until I threw up the first time. Now I know feeling “off” was my body’s way of warning me that I was coming down with something. Luckily, it’s Saturday, so I don’t have to worry about calling in to work and letting Abby down. Still, there are a million things I would have liked to get done today. My cell phone beeps with a message, and it takes all my energy to lift my arm out from under my blankets and grab it. When I see I have a text, I swipe my finger across the screen and sigh in disappointment as I read the message from Lucas.
Wanted to see if you’re up to dinner tonight with me? Maddi’s feeling better but planning on hanging with my sister-in-law and watching movies since she’s not allowed to go to her friend’s birthday party.
Darn. I’d really love to see him.
Sorry, I think I caught Madeline’s bug . . . Another night?
I press “Send” and have started to close my eyes when my phone rings. I don’t look at who’s calling, I just swipe and put the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“You’re sick?” Lucas’s deep voice asks.
My stomach, which was already feeling funny, feels funnier.
“Yeah.”
“Do you have meds? What’s your address?” He asks the second question before I can even open my mouth to answer his first one.
“Why?” I ask as a wave of nausea hits me hard.
“What’s your address?” he repeats. I give it to him without thinking, because my stomach rolls and bile crawls up the back of my throat. I drop my cell so I can cover my mouth with my hand, then toss back the blankets and rush to the toilet, where I puke again.
With my eyes closed and my body still heaving, I lift my head from the arm that’s resting on the edge of the toilet and turn on the shower. Once it’s warm, I get in and lean against the cold tile. I don’t think I have ever been this sick before. With the little energy I have left, I wash up, then brush my teeth. I make it back to my bedroom in a towel and get under my blankets. I don’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing I know I’m awakened by someone knocking on my door. I try to ignore them, but the knocking doesn’t stop—and soon turns to pounding.
“What the heck?” I groan out loud as I toss back the blankets and get out of bed, tucking my towel around me as I head across my apartment. I open the door a crack and peek through.
“Lucas?” I blink up at Lucas’s handsome face, wondering if I’m imagining him standing in my doorway. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to take care of you.” He gently pushes the door open, then steps inside.
My eyes follow him as he walks through my apartment and into the kitchen. He’s carrying three fabric bags. It takes more than a few seconds for my brain to catch up and for me to get out a “What?”
He drops the bags on the counter, then comes back toward me and takes the still-open door from my grasp, shutting it. “I’m here to take care of you.” His eyes meet mine before slowly moving down my body. “Maybe you should go get something on. You’re sick and should be dressed warmly.”
My mouth opens and closes with a hundred questions before I can get out one word again. “What?”
“Get something on, baby.” He takes my elbow and propels me toward my bedroom.
I know I should feel at least a little bit awkward that I’m only in a towel, but I honestly don’t have the energy. I definitely don’t have the energy to put my foot down and demand an explanation for his showing up at my place and saying he’s here to take care of me.
“Where is Madeline?”
“With my brother and his wife. They got a pizza and are hanging out, watching a movie.”
“Oh.” I think I remember him texting me that.
“Have you eaten?” He stops at my bedroom door.
My stomach recoils at the idea of putting anything inside it.
“All right, no food,” he says softly, reading my expression. “But you should try to drink something. Get dressed. I’ll make you some peppermint tea. That’ll help with the nausea.”
He pulls the door closed, and I stare at it for a long time, trying to figure out why my chest feels so heavy and why my nose is stinging like I’m about to cry. It takes me a few minutes to realize it’s because Tom never took care of me when I was sick. Even when I was going through round after round of fertility treatments, he didn’t take care of me. He didn’t hold my hand when I had to give myself a shot. He didn’t tell me everything would be okay when I cried my eyes out because of the stress and the hormones they were putting into my body. Not once in all the years we were together did he ever offer to take care of me.
“You are not going to cry,” I tell myself as I pull in a deep breath through my nose to fight back the tears filling my eyes. Then I pull in another one, and another. Only once I know I’m okay do I get dressed.
I pull on a pair of light-pink, wide-leg sleep pants with tiny purple flowers on them and a matching tank. I put on a long sweater. I pull up my hair in a messy bun, then open the door to my bedroom. I spot Lucas in the kitchen, emptying the shopping bags he brought with him. His eyes find me and soften around the edges.