Page 28

Compared to some other states, the allergies in Colorado aren’t too bad.

The cold weather freezes everything and keeps allergy season short and sweet, but that doesn’t mean they never affect me.

There’s always a week in the fall that kicks my ass.

As soon as my headache and scratchy throat come on, I take a Zyrtec and continue on my merry way.

So color me surprised when I was pedaling my ass home from school, a Moons Over My Hammy in my backpack and a smirk on my face, and I started shivering and sweating at the same time.

By the time I finally made it home, I ripped off my clothes in my hallway, grabbed the thermometer, and collapsed into my bed.

Other than going to the bathroom and filling up my water bottle, I haven’t moved in two days.

I spend five days a week teaching adorable little germ magnets, so I’m used to catching a bug or two.

But usually, I see kids going down around me and I can prepare.

This one totally caught me by surprise. I guess there is a slight possibility that this could also be the result of getting caught on my bike in a rainstorm and then standing beneath an AC vent in a room full of strangers for thirty minutes.

Not my finest moment, although it should be said, also not my worst. There was one time in college that I took so many shots at a football game that I fell asleep in the stadium bathroom.

The janitor found me curled up next to a toilet and called the campus police to remove me.

And that, my friends, is what you call a rock-bottom moment.

But honestly, who cares where or how I got this stupid bug?

The only thing that matters now is that I feel like I’m going to die and all I want is to call my mom.

Which of course, I won’t do…and not because I think I’m a burden like Keisha said, but because my sweet, perfect mother is a worrier.

If she finds out I’m sick, she’ll nag until she finds out about my car, and then she’ll find out about Petunia Lemon and my school loans and everything will be an avalanche of awful!

It’s better for everyone if I suffer in silence, like the good Catholic girl my grandma encouraged me to be. And no, I do not go to church anymore, but that’s just semantics. Catholic suffering, much like Catholic guilt, can and should be practiced anywhere in the world.

My stomach starts to growl, and I roll out of bed to make the quick journey to my kitchen.

My body aches from the top of my head to the tips of my toes—even my earlobes hurt.

Sweat has plastered the T-shirt I threw on when I got out of the shower to my back, and I hope it’s a sign my fever is finally breaking.

I called the doctor when it spiked yesterday, and they told me I’ll need to come in if it doesn’t go away by tomorrow.

Considering I’m still without a car, I’d really love to avoid pulling up to my appointment on a bike.

I’m pretty sure they’d frown upon that kind of thing.

I open my fridge and almost weep when I see how empty it is. I was planning to go to the grocery store later in the week, but feeling like death warmed over kind of screwed those plans up.

“A real adult would’ve at least had some fruit in the fridge, Emerson,” I lecture myself before turning to the tiny cabinet I use as my pantry. It’s not much better than my refrigerator, but there’s an old bag of Goldfish and a few cans of soup and I can work with that.

I’m digging around, trying to find the right size pot for my soup, when the buzzer for my apartment goes off.

“Shit!” I drop the pan I’m holding onto another pot, and the loud clatter of metals colliding brings my throbbing headache back with a vengeance. That’s what I get for trying to nourish myself. I’m better off rotting in bed.

Buzzzzz, it sounds again.

What in the world?

Keisha brought me Gatorade and a bowl of soup from Panera yesterday, but she left this morning for an art gallery opening in New Mexico that will be displaying her work.

I know I’m not doing great, but unless I had a fever-induced hallucination and invited someone over while I was out of it, nobody should be at my door.

I wait for the buzzer again, but it doesn’t come.

Whoever it was probably got the wrong apartment.

It happens much more often than a person would think in a building this small.

I rummage around in the cabinet for the soup pan, but I don’t get any closer than I did the first time before someone pounds on my door.

“What the fuck?”

I never have unexpected guests. I know the smart thing to do would be to ignore it, but I’m tired, hungry, and sick, and I don’t have any energy left for self-preservation. I don’t even bother asking who it is before twisting my locks and opening the door.

Big mistake.

“Can I—” My raspy voice trails off when I come face-to-face with Luke Miller…and he does not look happy. “What are you doing here?”

“Isla told me you haven’t been in class,” he says, and I can’t tell if it’s a question or an accusation.

“No…I mean yeah.” This is the first time a parent has shown up unannounced at my house, and I think my brain is misfiring. “I’ve been sick.”

“Figured as much.”

I consider being offended, but quickly decide against it.

I haven’t looked in the mirror today, but it’s not hard to assume that I look like I’ve been hit by the Hot Mess Express…

just without the hot part. I haven’t washed my face or brushed my hair in two days, and when I go to run my hand over my head, my shirt lifts up and the cool breeze against my thighs reminds me that I don’t have pants on.

Cool, cool.

Absolutely nothing to see here, folks.

“So now that you know where I’ve been, do you feel like telling me what you’re doing here?

” I should tell him showing up at my door is a massive violation of a teacher/parent relationship, that it’s time for us to establish boundaries and stick to them.

And I almost do! But before I can lay down the law, he bends over and distracts me with the pile of grocery bags sitting on the floor. “What are all of those?”

I clutch at the hem of my shirt and cross my ankles, trying to save myself from the embarrassment of flashing Luke something he’s already seen before.

“I didn’t think you’d miss school unless you had to,” he says, like it answers any part of my question. “I also figured that since I live down the street, the neighborly thing to do would be to check in on you and bring some groceries to tide you over until you’re back on your feet.”

“I…” I step to the side and gesture for him to come in. I’m so taken aback by this unexpected act of kindness that I temporarily forget how to use my words. “I, um…thanks.”

He walks into my kitchen, and the pots and pans I was fighting with when he showed up look like they’ve won.

They’re spread out all over the floor, and the lids are crowding the limited counter space next to my unopened can of soup.

I’m not the tidiest person in the world, but this is embarrassing even by my standards.

“What happened here?”

“Oh that?” I squeeze past him and squat down to start shoving everything back inside the cabinet. “I was just trying to find a pot to heat up some soup.”

Every time I put a pan back, another one comes sliding out from somewhere else.

This isn’t new, but usually nobody’s standing behind me, watching this unfortunate comedy of errors.

I reach for the other pan, but before I can grab it, Luke grabs me.

His strong hands make easy work of lifting me off of the floor and setting me on my feet.

“You’re hungry?” he asks, but once again, I’m not sure if it’s really a question or not.

“I guess so?” I say and hurry to explain when his brows knit together in confusion. “I haven’t really had a huge appetite these last couple of days, but I need to eat.”

“Alright.” He nods once and rolls up his sleeves. “You go lie down. I’m going to put the groceries away and then I’ll bring you something to eat.”

Ummmm…What?

“I’m sorry.” I must’ve misheard, because it sounded like he said he was going to cook for me and then serve me? And that can’t be right. “You’re going to do what now?”

His green eyes sparkle with humor, and a smile cracks his serious exterior for the first time since I opened the door. “I’m going to make you food while you rest.”

He says each word slowly, enunciating every syllable, and it’s nice to know he can still manage to be a sarcastic ass while making such a kind gesture.

I don’t think this is what they mean when they say get you a man who can do both , but I’m into it.

“But why?” It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, because I do. It’s just unnecessary. “It’s just soup. I’m pretty sure I can manage that.”

“I’m sure you think you can, and no offense, but—” He starts and I brace for what will, undoubtedly, be offensive. “If getting the pot out was hard, then it might be best for you and everyone in this building if you avoid the gas stove until you’re feeling better.”

“I’ve lived on my own since I was eighteen! I know how to heat up a can of soup.” The thing with being around Luke is that I’m not sure if I’m offended or I just like arguing with him. “I don’t need you to do it for me.”

“I know you don’t need me to do it for you.

” He braves my germs and closes the space between us.

His fingers find the hem of my shirt and the feel of his hands grazing across my thighs is almost enough to make me forget I’m sick.

“You take care of everyone around you. This time, I want you to let me take care of you.”

I was prepared to argue with him until he left my apartment, but with just three sentences, he has managed to effectively drain the fight out of me for the rest of forever.

Between his sweet words and gentle touch, I have to remind myself that I’m sick so I don’t launch myself at him.

I want to tell him that when he’s standing in front of me like this, he makes me want to throw caution out the window.

I don’t care that he’s a parent or Jacqueline’s ex. Nothing matters.

I want to tell him that all I want to do is turn back time and go back to our first night together. To go back to the moment when he first put his mouth on mine and made the world disappear and crack wide open at the same damn time.

But I don’t.

Instead, I just say, “Okay.”

I leave him in my kitchen and stumble to my room on trembling legs, with my stomach in knots and my heart exploding. I fall into my bed, and as I begin to doze off, I allow myself to wonder what we’d be like together if things were different.

It’s so good, the promise of a man like Luke, that in my sick, foggy haze, just before sleep pulls me under, I realize he might be the kind of man you risk it all for.