Oh shit. The date.
I swipe the screen on my phone and text Killian back.
Chloe's sick. Flu. I'll have to take a rain check.
My phone buzzes again.
Need anything?
I pause before I respond.
Thanks, but we're good.
The phone goes silent after that. He probably thinks I’m blowing him off and using Chloe as an excuse. I second-guess the text message about a hundred times as I busy myself with work, taking advantage of the fact that Chloe is quiet and settled. I should text him back, I tell myself something less abrupt, apologize for not being able to make the date.
I pipe flowers onto the cake in various shades of pink and purple before dusting the entire surface with edible glitter.
Chloe calls me from the living room. "Mo-om!"
"Hang on a second." I slide the cake into the refrigerator before heading for the living room.
"This is over. I don't want to watch TV anymore. I'm bored," she complains before putting her head on the arm of the sofa.
"Why don't I read you a book?"
"Can you get the princess and the dragon one?"
"Do you know where it is?"
"No," she whines. "In my room somewhere. Will you find it? I'm tired."
"I'll go find it."
"Can we paint our nails? And do makeup?"
"I thought you were too tired to look for the book yourself. I take it you're feeling better than you were earlier?"
"I'm bo-red."
My gaze lands on the princess book shoved sideways between a couple of other books in the living room bookcase. "Is that the princess book you were talking about?"
"Yes!" Chloe leans forward and grabs it from my hands before I even reach the sofa. "Will you read it to me?"
"Let me get my water, and I'll come back and read." Chloe is reading on her own now, but the princess and the dragon is one we read together. I want to keep that as long as possible.
The doorbell rings, and Chloe perks up. "Who's that?"
"Probably a salesperson or something," I say, holding my hand up when she sits up. "Don't come to the door with me. You're sick."
"But I'm bored, too."
I give her a glare. "You're supposed to rest. I'll get it."
"Mo-om."
"Don't mom me," I call as I walk down the hallway. I pull the door open to see Killian standing there, holding two paper bags. "What are you doing here?"
Oh, God. Killian is here and I look like. . . well, I look like I’m a mom hanging out with my sick kid.
My hand flies to my hair, pulled up into an unruly pile on top of my head. I glance down at my clothes, even though I already know I'm wearing my stay-at-home outfit – this faded pair of striped pajama shorts that barely cover my ass and a ratty white tank top with a hole in the side. And no bra. Or makeup.
Killian's eyes drift down the length of my body and up again, and he does absolutely nothing to even try to hide it. My cheeks warm under his gaze, and I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling naked in front of him, which is totally ridiculous given the fact that his mouth has been between my legs.
Killian holds up two paper bags. "I brought supplies."
"What kind of supplies?" I take one of the bags from his hand as he follows me into the kitchen. Setting the bag on the counter, I pull out a bottle of whiskey, a glass jar of honey, and a lemon.
"My grandma's recipe. Whiskey, honey, and lemon. Works for a cold or the flu – burns the germs right out of you."
"You understand that it's my seven-year-old child who's sick, right?"
Killian stares at me blankly. "Yeah. Whiskey helps them sleep." I gape at him for a second, mostly because I can't believe he really doesn't know the bare basics about kids. Then he chuckles. "I'm kidding, shit. There's chicken soup in this bag. The whiskey is for you. I do know enough not to feed whiskey to a seven-year-old." He pauses for a beat. "You have to wait until they're twelve, right?"
I slap him on the arm.
"Who is it, mom?" Chloe yells from the sofa.
"My friend from the bakery," I call. "He brought soup."
"Friend, huh?" Killian asks, standing beside me, far too close to be friendly.
I clear my throat, trying to shake off the goose bumps that dot my arms just because I'm standing so close to him. "Friend," I repeat.
What the hell else would we be? My mind immediately goes to Opal and her terms for her relationship with Bert: booty call, fuck buddy.
Killian and I haven't had sex yet, so there's no fuck buddying involved. So we're friends. Just friends.
He moves so he's right behind me and whispers in my ear. "Totally platonic."
I swallow hard as heat surges through my body. "Platonic."
"Platonic friends who are going out on a date."
"Who were going out on a date," I correct. “We haven’t gone out on a date yet. And does going out on a date mean we’re not friends anymore?”
He touches his fingertips to my arms, and I shiver as he traces them lightly across my skin. "Maybe I don't want to be your friend."