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“Stay put,” I tell her and I walk out of her room to the bathroom, turning on the hot water in the sink before opening the upper doors to the cupboard. It’s right where she said, of course.
Once it’s filled with steaming water, I screw the top plug in and wrap it in a hand towel I find on another shelf.
Thankfully, she’s right where I left her.
“You don’t have to do this. Greta from down the hall is bringing me something.”
Ah, so that explains the ajar door and the strange greeting.
“I don’t have to, but I want to,” I tell her, only lying a little. I actually feel like I need to take care of her. Like she’s mine to take care of. Or that she could be if she let me. “Hold this between the pillow and yourself.”
She lets me tuck the hot water bottle in and I unfold the throw blanket at the end of the bed. The small amount her face relaxes has me feeling more and more confident that I’m being helpful. As I adjust the blanket, I realize that half of her hair is in curlers and that she’s wearing a robe and slippers. Images of her joining me for breakfast dressed just like this pop into my head. Wow, that’s something I haven’t done in a long time…I fully pictured a future moment with someone.
Kneeling once more, I lean the rest of the way over so I can place a kiss on her cheek and that’s when I notice a fresh tear.
“What happened? Did it get worse?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “This is not how our date was supposed to go. We had plans and those plans ended with a kiss.” Covering her face with one hand she adds, “I’m sorry, I’m all over the place right now and whining, apparently.”
My shoulders relax, I tilt my head down so it practically mirrors hers, and she peeks at me through her fingers. “Who said the plan was that we had to wait until the end of the date?”
And then I weave my fingers through hers and carefully tug her hand away from her face. She searches my expression as I close the gap and ever-so-gently, finally, kiss Samantha Davies.
Chapter 19: Sam
If a person could melt into a puddle from the sweetest, softest kiss in the world, that’s what I would be right now. It’s like he knows I can’t handle more than this and the tenderness he’s showing has fresh tears filling my eyes. He’s one hundred percent perfect.
And here I am tucked around one of my pillows with curlers in half of my hair, dressed in my robe. And my date is kneeling before me when we’re supposed to be on our way to a movie before going out for dinner. And I’m crying.
But he’s kissing me like this is simply a tiny change in plans versus my once-a-year, life-halting cramps ruining our first official date.
Holy cow, this man can kiss.
Nothing steamy is technically happening. But…wow.
Tommy breaks off our kiss and leaves one more on my forehead. He glances up at my hair and starts taking out my remaining curlers.
I’m mortified.
My hand is gently swatted away before it can get close to my hair and Tommy shakes his head.
“Your job right now is to think about where you’re going to be comfortable while I’m raiding your kitchen. If that spot is right here in bed, that’s just fine, but I need you to tell me so I can get you situated before I get a few things started.” He takes out the final curler and walks them to the bathroom where he’s clearly putting them back in the heater.
I sit up, my abdomen feeling like it’s in a vise grip, and mask the sound I make by asking a question. “What can I do?”
“Hold on, cowgirl,” he says lightly, but without hiding the worry on his face. “Your face is pale.”
“I want to help,” I protest.
Tommy looks at me, then the bed, and then looks outside the room.
“How comfortable would you be on the couch?”
“More. Being able to sit up a little can help.”
One second I’m curled up on my bed, and the next I’m being held in two strong arms. Tommy carries me to the couch, setting my legs down first so he can grab a pillow to put behind my back.
He gently lays me back, putting an extra pillow under my knees so I can stay tucked in my little ball of misery. It’s a whole lot better than the blinding pain of standing.
