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The next morning I make my way into work, but he doesn't come into the kitchen to say good morning to me like he does most days, which leaves me a little bit concerned. My heart sinks like a stone toward my shoes as I begin to stress about what this means. Maybe our kiss and maybe my refusal to stay the night did some damage to our working relationship.
I leave the kitchen and begin to wander around his home. I feel very strange walking around his home as if I belong; instead, I feel like I’m intruding.
In the living room, I find him lying on the couch, a streaming service on the TV. He's covered with a blanket and looks ashen and uncomfortable.
“Hey, is everything okay?” I can't help but be worried about him as his gaze slides toward me. His eyes seem sunken in and listless, and his skin seems red, like he’s blazing with fever.
He offers me a tired smile. “Good morning. I think I might be sick.”
I kneel down by his side. “Did you take any medication?”
He shakes his head no and I'm not surprised. He seems like the kind of stubborn person who wouldn't take medication when he didn’t feel well. Holding back a sigh I open my purse and take out a bottle of Acetaminophen and offer him two. They’ll help bring down the fever and help him feel better.
He accepts the pills with a soft thanks, and I pick up the water on the table beside the couch and offer the glass to him. He takes the glass and washes down the medication with a quick gulp.
“I don’t pay you enough for you to take care of me while I’m sick.” He studies me with those steely gray eyes, and I smile.
“Well, if your humor is back, then clearly you're feeling better.”
He gives a slight chuckle, and I quickly change my game plan for meals today. I'm not sure he'd be up for what I had planned, but as luck would have it, I did put a whole chicken in the fridge that will now boil down nicely into some bone broth.
“I'm going to go get started on food.” I stand up and take a step toward the kitchen, but he grabs my wrist and I stop, looking down at him.
“I don't know that I can eat anything.”
“Have a little faith in me.” But I don’t want him to let me go. The spot he’s touching warms up and tingling heat races up my arm and circulates down through my fingers. And the way he’s looking at me, as if ferreting out the secrets of my soul...
“Thank you,” he says, then relaxes back, letting me go.
“Of course,” I say before making my way into the kitchen to get started on his healthy comfort meals for the day.
Once in the kitchen, I begin gathering my ingredients, taking the chicken out of the fridge and taking several carrots, some celery, an onion, and various seasonings and putting them in an electric pressure pot. This will shorten the cook time to three hours with no noticeable dip in quality, and time is of the essence.
Once that's all cooking, I set some water to boil while gathering basil, lime, fresh ginger, cardamom, honey, and a few other ingredients to make a soothing tea that’ll help boost his immune system and soothe his throat, as well as get some liquid in him for hydration.
Next on my list, I prep a spinach and artichoke dish with quick hands, loving that I’m going to offer him one of my go-to sick day comfort foods - a spinach and artichoke grilled cheese that’ll go amazingly well with his bone broth in a few hours.
As I work around the kitchen, I realize I'm not just cooking because it's my job and I'm paid to be here. I'm worried about Charles and I want to make sure that he feels his best. The best way I know how to do that is by making sure that he’s eating well.
And sure, I know I'm not paid to be a nurse for him, but I do know that he pays me very well, is very flexible, has been kind to me, and I’m grateful for him and every opportunity he’s afforded me, even if he was a pain in my backside in the beginning.
All I have to do is remind myself of the conversation I had with his mother and know that he's been through a heartbreak, and I don't feel so angry about his behavior in the beginning. Trauma made him an unhealthy eater, but I think he's broken that habit with my help. And now he’s the best boss a girl could hope for.
Of course, I’d love a deeper relationship with him than just boss and worker, but I still don’t think I can risk everything, even on something that feels right.
Because what happens when everything falls through?
As soon as the tea is ready, I carry the hot mug I’d chosen to use out to him. Before I even reach his side, I hear him sniff appreciatively.
“Whatever it is, it smells amazing. I take back that I can't eat anything.” I can tell the medicine has already kicked in by the way he's speaking - he sounds more like his usual self.
“That's just too bad, because it isn't food. It's tea. I do have food planned for you. Are you hungry now? Or would you like to wait?” I already have homemade chicken stock that I've prepared, which won't be as good as the bone broth, but it will still get some calories in him and pair nicely with the grilled cheese I plan to make.
His brow furrows as he thinks for a moment, and I place the tea on the table next to him, watching the little curls of steam rise up toward the ceiling. But then he nods his head, and his gaze ticks to mine. “I think I'd like to try to eat something; I do feel much better. Thank you.”
I nod my head, ready to tell him to make sure he drinks the tea, but he picks up the cup before I can open my mouth and brings it to his face, inhaling the steam and letting out a sigh of pleasure that sends goose bumps up and down my arms. Inappropriate thoughts race through my mind and I make a quick escape to the kitchen, my heart pounding.
I’ve never wanted a man to inhale my scent like that and give such a satisfied sigh. Maybe that’s weird. Is that weird? I’m not sure, but I want that. I want him. And I have no business wanting him.
