Practice Makes Perfect (When in Rome, #2)

Okay, Annie. You can do it. You can get your booty off the floor and get to your doctor’s appointment.

This is what I get for needing water. I thought by now I had trained my body to not need it anymore—to live on a strict coffee-only diet—but no. The little weasel decided to defy me and demand rehydration.

After drinking my obligatory sip of water, I thought I just needed a little rest, so I sat down on the floor in the kitchen, and then that turned into lying on the floor of the kitchen, and now here I am…thirty minutes later, still lying here, head pounding, ears feeling like someone took a baseball bat to them, and nose so stuffy it’s possible I’ll never breathe through my nostrils again.

My sisters left for their Mexico trip yesterday, and now I’m wondering if this is where I’ll die and how my sisters will find me when they come home glowing and suntanned from the beach. They’ll hover over my body and laugh that I died wearing banana-print underwear and matching tank top. But it’s not my fault that I can’t sleep in PJ bottoms, and it was too hard to bend over and pull them on before walking into the kitchen because my body has no energy left from expending it all trying to breathe.

But I have to get up. Must get up. I have a date tomorrow with Brandon—the guy from the flower shop. I vetted him on Instagram, and then we texted a few times and set up a date for Saturday, which is tomorrow. So far, I don’t feel exuberant sparks when we talk, but I’m sure that’ll come later. No need to worry, Annie. Earlier, I managed to call Dr. Mackey and get an appointment for this afternoon, so maybe she could prescribe something to get me better before the date—but how in the chicken potpie am I going to get there?

At this moment, there’s a knock on my door. I don’t answer it because I’m only 50 percent conscious. I think it might actually be a burglar because I heard the doorknob jiggle, followed by its opening. Good. I’ll ask him for a ride to the doctor.

“Annie?” A voice hovers over me, and I cringe because I know that voice, and I also know that I’m pantsless. I hear a thunk as he drops to his knees. “Shit, Annie. Talk to me—are you okay?”

“Will? Are you kidding me?” I crack my eyes open to find the world’s most attractive man kneeling down beside me, looking relieved that I’m not dead. That’s sweet.

I know I should feel upset to see him without my pants (especially because I know he’s been avoiding me since that misinterpreted kiss at Hank’s the other night), but instead, I feel a deep sense of peace. “I wasn’t trying to make him jealous, you know,” I say, because I’ve been dying to tell him the truth for days. But I didn’t want to do it over the phone.

“Shh—it’s fine, Annie.”

He pushes my hair back and I catch his wrist. “It’s not fine. It’s important to me that you know it wasn’t a game.”

Will takes in a soft deep breath and then nods. “Okay.”

I smile—feeling a hundred pounds lighter now that that’s off my chest and close my eyes again. “Okay, now leave. You’re not supposed to see me like this.”

“Like what? Pantsless? Wearing underwear printed with little yellow banana characters on them?” he asks with a crooked grin. “Cute. They match your PJs.”

I groan and toss my arm over my eyes. “Leave me to die.”

“That’s one option. But then who would service everyone’s flower needs in town?”

“The keys are in my purse. The shop is yours now. Please don’t give anyone ugly carnation bouquets.”

A low rumbly laugh sounds from his chest, and all I want is to press my face to it and feel the vibrations against my cheek. “I don’t love flowers as much as you.”

“Says the man who has them tattooed on his skin for eternity.”

“Good to know you still have your sense of humor.” I feel his hand rest over my forehead and he hisses. “Geez, you’re burning up. Have you taken anything lately?”

“No. I can’t move. My body doesn’t work anymore.”

Will’s hand brushes affectionately over my hairline, pushing my sweaty hair away from my face. “Why didn’t you call me to come take care of you? Or Noah?”

I grimace. “And risk getting any of you sick? No way. I’ll be fine. I have a doctor’s appointment in an hour.”

“Good. But how do you plan on getting there?”

“I’ll hitch a ride on the back of a turtle.”

“Very practical,” he says with the backs of his fingers lingering against my neck. “Let’s get you off the floor, sunshine.”

Sunshine. Am I hallucinating or did Will just call me by the sweetest name my ears have ever heard?

Will’s strong arms scoop under my bare thighs and back, lifting me off the floor and carrying me to my room, where I’m deposited gently on the bed. I’m immensely grateful for the gently part because my head feels like it’s going to explode. I would be able to appreciate all of this tenderness so much more if I wasn’t near death. Unfortunately.

I hear Will shuffle around through my closet for a minute and then return to my feet. “Annie, I’m going to slide these pants on you so I can take you to the doctor, okay? Can you give me a sign of life that it’s all right for me to help like this?”

I grunt an affirmative, and then Will gently tugs my feet and legs into my PJ bottoms. He slides them all the way up my body until they’re sitting below my hips. I use the last of my strength to lift my butt so he can slide them the rest of the way. The strange thing is, I’m the most modest person you’ll ever meet, but I don’t feel the least embarrassed that he’s seeing me half naked. I trust him in a way I shouldn’t. In a way that I know is just going to hurt me later when he reminds me he’s not the relationship type. That he hates marriage. That he’s absolutely not returning the feelings I’ve caught.



* * *





The sun is down and I’m feeling more like myself and a little less like a walking corpse. Will took me to the doctor, where I was diagnosed with a sinus and double ear infection. After bringing me back home and tucking me into bed, he went to the pharmacy and picked up my antibiotics. I took them and then slept for the entire day, thinking I’d wake up to a lonely house again, but instead, I leave my room to find Will in my kitchen…cooking.

“What are you doing?” I croak out—immediately reprimanded by my seriously dry sore throat.

He frowns lightly and comes around the kitchen island to put his hand on my forehead again. “Seems like your fever broke. That’s good. Medicine must be working.”

I lightly push his hand away because all I want to do is lean into it. “Will, what are you still doing here?”

“Making dinner.” He turns back to the pot he was stirring. It smells good enough to rival one of Maddie’s soups. “You should go sit down. I’ll bring you a bowl in a few minutes.”

I want to cry. My usually well-guarded feelings are sitting on the top of my skin, exposed and raw. “No. I mean what are you still doing here? As in…you shouldn’t still be here.”

“Why not?”

“Because…because!”

“You don’t say?”

I slump and wrap my arms around myself for extra comfort and stability, because, yes, the medicine is working, but I still feel like a bus ran over me. I can’t tell Will that he shouldn’t be here because we’ve kissed three times and they were all so good that I really think I’m going to need a fourth. Or even worse, that I want him to stay and talk and snuggle and laugh with me all night.

After Hank’s, I told myself I was going to take a step back from Will because if we continued on that trajectory we were on, it would spell disaster and heartache for me. So no texting. No potential run-ins. No practice anythings until I could wipe the feel of his lips from my brain and his smile from my heart because I’m starting to severely doubt my ability to keep Will in the casual category, where he wants to belong. And now here he is, making everything more complicated with soup.

“You’ll catch my cold. You need to go.”

He narrows his eyes while looking around the countertops. “Do you have any pepper around here?” His butterfly flutters all around the kitchen.

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