Carlise stood and her brows furrowed. “Should you be doing that? How do you feel? Do you still have a fever? Did you take any Tylenol today?”
Chappy couldn’t help but grin. “I’m fine,” he told her. “My fever is gone, and yes, I took some meds.”
“Okay. I just . . . I spent three days trying to get you better, and it would suck if you had a relapse while I was sleeping,” she said with a small shrug.
Chappy couldn’t stop himself from going to the woman who’d appeared out of nowhere and was quickly becoming an obsession. He walked right into her personal space and wrapped her in his arms.
To his relief, she didn’t pull away in alarm. Instead, she snuggled into him as they stood next to his couch.
Chappy rested his cheek on her temple and sighed in contentment. “Thank you,” he said fervently. “I can’t remember the last time anyone did something as selfless as you did for me.”
He expected her reaction. She shook her head against him, then pulled back and looked up to meet his gaze. “I wasn’t going to just let you fend for yourself, Riggs. You were the one who went out into the storm, while you were sick, to find me. If you hadn’t followed Baxter . . .” Her voice trailed off and she shivered.
“But I did. And you’re fine. And I’m good,” he reassured her.
“Yeah,” she agreed.
The last thing Chappy wanted to do was let go, but he forced himself to drop his arms from around her and take a step back. “Three days ago, we were strangers, and now I feel as if I’ve known you forever.” He shrugged. “I don’t understand it, but I’ve learned over the years to not question things like this.”
“Same,” she said, making Chappy almost sag in relief. “But I know intense situations can sometimes make people feel closer than they might otherwise.”
Chappy shook his head. “I have a feeling no matter where or when I met you, I’d feel the same way I do right now.” He wanted to say more. Wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t force her into any kind of relationship if she didn’t want it. But it was way too soon for that kind of conversation . . . wasn’t it?
He cleared his throat and stepped backward toward the kitchen. “I’ll move the pot into the bathroom for you. The water isn’t boiling anymore, but the pot will still be hot to the touch. Just be careful, okay?”
“I will,” she said with a small nod.
She stood next to the couch as he carried the large pot into the bathroom.
“Take your time. The meal’s not going anywhere.”
“Okay. Thanks,” Carlise said, giving him a small smile before walking over to her backpack, which was sitting against the wall. Chappy had seen it earlier but left it alone. She hadn’t gone through his drawers and personal items while he’d been unconscious—although, honestly, if he’d been in her situation, he totally would’ve. Still, he didn’t want to repay her thoughtfulness and unselfishness by pawing through her things.
She pulled out a change of clothes, then headed to the bathroom and closed the door.
Chappy let out a long breath. He was somewhat shocked to realize how empty the cabin felt without her in sight. Which was ridiculous, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling. She didn’t take long in the bathroom, and when she reemerged, the hair around her face was wet, letting him know she’d taken advantage of the warm water to wash her face.
Immediately, he wondered if she’d washed other parts of her body as well.
Feeling like a pervert, he did his best to shut down that line of thinking. If he thought about her standing naked in his bathroom, using one of his washcloths to caress her luscious curves . . .
No . . . he wasn’t going there.
Chappy cleared his throat. “All good?” he asked.
Carlise nodded. “The warm water felt great. Thank you.”
“Again, I’ll get the generator fired up tomorrow, and we can both take a shower. There won’t be a ton of hot water, but it’ll be enough for a quick wash. We can also run a load of laundry.”
“I’ll never take hot water or electricity for granted again,” she said with a small smile. She dropped a bundle of dirty clothes next to her backpack, then wandered over to the kitchen. “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing,” Chappy told her. “It’s all done. Just have a seat. What can I get you to drink?”
“Water’s fine,” she said.
He felt her anxious gaze on him as he dished out two plates of the ooey-gooey pasta dish.
“What?” he asked, unable to not ask. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t do that,” he said quietly, catching her gaze. “Don’t say nothing’s wrong when I can tell you’re worried about something. You can ask me anything. Say anything. I’m not going to get mad. I’m not going to punish you for thinking a certain way. Things between us have gone from zero to a hundred in lightning-fast speed, but I don’t want you to feel as if you can’t express a concern or tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I’m just not used to sitting around and letting someone wait on me,” she replied. “Tommy always expected me to do everything. Cook, clean, get him a beer. And, of course, it also feels weird to just be sitting here after doing everything the last few days.”
Not for the first time, Chappy wanted to kick her ex’s ass. He brought their full plates over to the table and set them down before going back into the kitchen and grabbing the two glasses of water, two forks, and two paper towels.
He set everything down on the table, sat, then took a breath before turning to her. “I’m thirty-four years old. I’ve been cooking for myself for at least the last decade and a half. I’ve done my own laundry, paid my own bills, cleaned my own dishes, floors, bathrooms, and everything else. I don’t expect you—or anyone else, for that matter—to do that stuff for me. In fact, it would feel extremely weird for me to sit around and let you do all that stuff.
“I also don’t like the thought of you having to do everything around here while I was sick. Don’t get me wrong, I’m appreciative, and I can’t remember the last time anyone has gone out of their way to do so much for me . . . but I don’t expect or want that dynamic in any kind of relationship I have, whether platonic or romantic.”
Carlise was staring at him so raptly, Chappy wished he could read her mind and know what she was thinking. When she didn’t comment, he kept talking.
“I have to admit, it feels good to cook for someone other than myself. I always make too much and have to eat leftovers for days. I usually get sick of eating the same thing but feel guilty if I throw perfectly good food out. So you’re really doing me a favor.”
Her lips twitched, and she rolled her eyes. “Me letting you wait on me hand and foot is doing you a favor?”
“Yup,” he said with a grin.
“Whatever,” she muttered and reached for her fork.
Chappy knew the taco pasta was good, but he still held his breath as she took her first bite. Her eyes widened as she chewed. After she swallowed, she grinned at him. “Holy crap, Riggs. This is . . . it’s so good!”
He chuckled. “I’m not sure how much of a compliment that is since you’ve had nothing but PB&J for the last three days.”
“No, I’m serious. It’s really, really good,” she said enthusiastically.
“Well, there’s plenty, so dig in,” he returned, pleasure blooming in his chest. It was silly. It was only food. But as they sat there, and she ate a meal he’d prepared for her, Chappy’s protectiveness for this woman grew. He knew it wasn’t just about the food. It was a sense of satisfaction deep in his soul for providing for her.
He hadn’t lied earlier when he’d told her he was a protector. He enjoyed being needed, doing things for others. But this felt so different.
Different from helping out his friends or a neighbor. Assisting a tourist on the AT. Different from just wanting to return the favor after she’d taken care of him.
He was already falling for Carlise.