He shrugs. “I didn’t have anything else to do today. Bria helped me. There’s a whole pot in my fridge.”
“Oh.” I digest his words. He spent the whole morning making soup. For me. “It was delicious. I just don’t have an appetite.”
“Okay,” he says, and he gets up. “I’ll put it in the fridge for later.”
I hear him bang around in the kitchen, but I don’t have the energy to look and see what he’s doing. Next thing I know, he’s sitting next to me again, and this time, he props my legs up on his lap.
“Umm,” I say quietly. “What are you doing?”
“Just thought you’d want to be comfortable while we watch”—his eyes squint at the TV—“The Breakfast Club.”
“I love this movie,” I whisper. I feel the lull of sleep take over.
*
When I wake up, Nick is still seated next to me, and he’s holding a damp washcloth to my forehead. It’s the ending sequence in The Breakfast Club—I slept through the whole movie. A part of me feels embarrassed that I fell asleep in front of Nick, but the other part, the sicker part, doesn’t care. It’s nice that he’s here.
“Hey,” I rasp, and his eyes wander over to me.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he says tenderly. He looks at me, and I can’t help but blush. Somehow, this moment feels really intimate: my legs in his lap, his hand holding a washcloth to my forehead. The way he called me sleepyhead…
“How long was I asleep?”
“About an hour. It’s good. You need to rest.” He lifts the washcloth up and sets it down on the coffee table. “Kept that on your forehead. Try drinking some more water.”
“Okay,” I whisper, and I have to keep from crying, because he’s being really sweet and caring right now.
He gets up slowly, removing my legs from his lap. He goes over to my cabinet and gets a new glass. He acts like it’s his apartment—which technically, it is, I guess. That’s probably why he’s so comfortable here.
“Where’s Bria?” I ask.
“Out with Cecelia. They’re having a girls’ afternoon.” He sits back down next to me.
“I’m sorry I tore you away,” I reply guiltily. “I know you don’t get very many days off.”
“It’s fine. Bria loves her grandmother, and they both understood when I said I was keeping an eye on you.”
I study him for a moment before replying. He’s watching TV again.
“Nick?” I ask.
His eyes wander to mine lazily—comfortably. It startles me. He’s made himself at home here, with me.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry about yesterday. It wasn’t right of me to argue with you over what you decide to teach Bria. She’s your daughter, and you have full control over what you teach her.”
His face softens, and I swear, I know he wants to touch me so badly. Not in a sexual way, but in a tender, loving way. His hand resigns and plops onto my knee. The contact does something funny to my insides.
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I got so mad. I guess I just don’t want her to be disappointed in life ever again, and if I can save her from that, in any way…” He trails off.
“I get it. I really do.”
“You were right, though. You said I should make some room in my heart for the unimaginable, and I’m trying. I’m trying really, really hard.” He stares down at me, and I have a feeling that he’s not talking about Bria anymore. “You’re chipping away at everything I thought I once believed, Evi. Little by little.”
I feel my heart slam against my chest.
Yes, heart, I know you’re in there.
I sit up and face Nick, because I feel like I should. Because right now, he’s looking at me like maybe, just maybe, he might kiss me. The soft lines around his eyes crinkle, and he reaches a hand out to mine. It’s a casual-enough gesture, but I know it means so much more. I put my hand in his, and he gives it a small, knowing squeeze.
“Truth or dare?” he asks, and a playful smile breaks out on his face.
“What? Seriously? I thought Would You Rather was our thing.”
“It was. I’m ready to take it to the next level.”