Page 23 of Moody's Grumpy Holiday

“Drink the fucking tea, Moody.”

He narrowed his gaze, but to my surprise and relief, he picked up his cup. Of course, he made a face. “Hot…no sugar.”

“You don’t need sugar. You need rest,” I replied matter-of-factly.

Moody rolled his eyes. “Thank you for your insight, doctor. Doctors don’t usually wear cowboy hats, do they? Maybe they should. Although not everyone looks good in one. Yours is unquestionably appealing, but don’t take that as a compliment.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Good.Ah-choo. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to curl up on the sofa with a box of tissues and watch classic game shows.”

I gathered his bowl and the cup of tea he’d barely put a dent in, rinsed them in the sink, and turned to find Moody leaning on the wall. “Go on. I promise I won’t steal the china.”

“You don’t have to be so nice, Hudson. I’m a lost cause. I wouldn’t waste the energy if I were you.”

I furrowed my brow, but he’d already shuffled off to the living room.

Now listen, I admit I was curious. The sick, Oscar the Grouch version was the polar opposite of the man who’d sucked me to oblivion in the honeymoon suite two months ago. He didn’t want me in his house, at his store, or in his life. He couldn’t have been more clear if he’d rented space on an LA billboard. And that was before I’d pushed my way inside.

So, why wasn’t I out the door and halfway to my truck?

I didn’t have an answer. Something pulled at my subconscious and insisted that this man was someone I needed to know. That was borderline ridiculous. Logically, I knew this, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was…special.

Quit being an idiot, Hudson.

I dried my hands on a dish towel and joined Moody in the living room with a prepared good-bye speech and best wishes for his swift recovery.

“I’m gonna head out and—” I cocked my head. “Do you really have tissues stuffed up your nose?”

Moody’s watery gaze slid my way. “It won’t stop. Desperate times call for desperate measures. That’s a quote by Hippocrates, by the way. He was a Greek physician. One might call him the OG MD.”

“Right,” I grunted at the goofball snort-snuffle-chuckling at his own joke from beneath the pile of blankets he’d burrowed under on his sectional. “I think the doctor would prescribe actual medication, though. Do you have any antihistamines?”

“Yes, maybe…I dunno.” He groaned, slipping lower on the sofa. “Hey, beat it, buster. I want to be miserable alone.”

See? He couldn’t have been clearer.Go, Hudson, go.

“I know you do, but I can’t leave you like this.”Oh, for fuck’s sake.“Let me at least grab your medicine and some water, okay?”

Moody flashed a deadpan glance. “You want to peek in my drawers, don’t you, cowboy? Get it? Bathroom drawers?”

“Very funny. Are you going to let me help you or not?”

“Ugh, sure, fine, whatever.” He sat up to blow his nose and pointed in the direction of the hallway.

I sifted through the uber-organized medicine cabinet in the bathroom and returned a few minutes later with a couple of tablets and a fresh glass of water. He mumbled his thanks and snuggled into his makeshift cocoon, his eyes glued to the television.

“What are you watching?”

“Match Game, circa 1977. It’s a hoot. Comedy genius with innuendos coming out the wazoo.”

I perched on a corner of the sofa. “The wazoo, eh?”

“Yes, have you seen it? The host presents a fill-in-the blank query for the contestants and celebrities. Simple sentences that can turn perverse in a hot second. And the seventies were very un-PC. They can make a question about how you’d spend your earnings on a million-dollar lottery ticket into a saucy advertisement for an online sex shop. Of course, there was no Internet in those days.” He wrinkled his nose as if deep in thought. “I think they had sex shops, though.”

“Definitely.”

Moody snickered softly. “Now that would be embarrassing. I can’t imagine walking to the register with flavored body oils or a toy of some ilk. Can you?”