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Once Olivia’s drifted back to sleep, I check the kitchen and decide I need to do a shopping run.
She needs medicine, soup for when she gets hungry, and some Gatorade. About fifteen minutes later, I’m stepping back inside Olivia’s house with bags full of medicine, tissues, Gatorade, orange juice, a dozen different kinds of canned soup because I’m not sure what she likes, and cough drops in case she ends up needing them.
I also picked up some allergy medicine for myself. I’m allergic to cats, and sometimes Salsa’s fur bothers me. Luckily, the girls keep their place clean. Still, I’ll pop a couple, because there’s no way I’m letting a runny nose keep me from staying by Olivia’s side.
When I step through the door, Olivia’s eyes flutter open. My heart squeezes in sympathy at her exhausted gaze.
“You take any medicine yet?” I ask, stepping to the couch.
She just shakes her head.
“Here.” I fish the bottle of Tylenol out of its bag. Olivia’s so tired she doesn’t even hold out her hand for the pill, just opening her mouth for it. I try not to let my cock thicken too much as I place the capsule on her tongue. I twist open a bottle of Gatorade for her to wash it down with.
“You got the blue kind,” she whispers thinly. “My favorite.”
I chuckle. “Your favorite Gatorade is the same colors as my eyes? Can’t be a coincidence.”
Her mouth crooks with the wisp of a smile, and then she’s back asleep.
There’s no way I’m leaving here any time soon. I sit on a chair close to the couch to rest for a second.
It’s gotta be ten minutes later when I realize I’ve been sitting here with my gaze hovering on Olivia while she sleeps. I suddenly feel self-conscious, so I rip it away and look around the room.
Should’ve brought my laptop. Maybe I could’ve got some schoolwork done. Oh, well.
I think about turning on the TV, but I don’t want to disturb her. Instead, I decide to wander back up to her room to pick out a book from her overstuffed bookshelf.
When I step through the doorway, my eyes settle on a book sitting on the small table next to her bed, bookmark sticking out just a bit more than halfway through. Picking it up, I see it’s Emma by Jane Austen.
The book she’s in the middle of reading right now, I guess. The thought of reading the exact book she’s reading, my eyes passing over the literal words on the literal pages that her eyes passed over just days ago, makes my heart go crazy in my chest.
I guess this’ll be my first foray into Victorian literature.
Wait, is Jane Austen Victorian? Isn’t there a Regency era somewhere in the British timeline, too? And Edwardian? Which one is she? Sebastian would know, but I sure as hell don’t.
I shrug. Whatever damn monarch Jane Austen’s era is named after, I guess this is the book I’ll be perusing for a while.
Keeping Olivia’s bookmark in place, I open to the first page and start reading, lounging in the living room chair, Olivia sleeping silently just to my side.
I’ve never been a classical literature guy, but I get sucked into the book. I don’t know if it’s because it’s just that good, or if it’s because I feel like I’m sharing something with Olivia while reading it. Either way, two hours fly by before I glance up from the pages.
When I do, it’s because I hear Olivia stirring.
“How you feeling?” I ask when her eyes open and her head flips on the pillow in my direction.
She groans. “A little hungry. Maybe. I don’t know.”
I know the feeling. When you’re sick and your stomach starts to rumble, but you’re not sure if you can handle eating.
“I’ll heat you up some chicken noodle soup, see if you can handle the broth.”
Her eyes are already closed when she answers, “Okay.”
Olivia’s able to sip five spoonfuls of hot broth before a groan tells me that’s all she can stomach right now. I twist open a new, cold bottle of Gatorade for her to wash it down with. Her long breaths tell me she’s back asleep by the time I settle into my chair and pick up Emma again.
This time, I’m pretty sure my gaze lingers on her for longer than ten minutes by the time I pull it away and direct it to the next page in the book.
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