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He closes me up in the bathroom, and I think I mightswoon. Sure, it might be from severe dehydration, but most of it’s him.
I take a quick shower, and if I don’t totally feel like myself when I finish, I’m at least clean. I open the door and lean against the jamb. Grant’s at my side before I can even tell him I’m ready.
“I’ve got you.” He helps me pad across the floor, watching me for any signs of distress. I climb into bed, pulling the sheet over my legs. “Do you feel up for some water?”
I nod, and he crosses the room to my kitchenette. He grabs a glass and fills it from my filter in the fridge. It’s the tiniest of gestures, but it feels just right. Like he belongs here with me.
When he returns, I only take a few sips. I don’t want to upset the precarious balance my stomach’s got going on. I snuggle back down in the sheets. Grant stands by the bed, and I can feel his wheels spinning from here.
I reach out to take hold of his fingers. “Will you stay a little longer?”
“Sure.” He rounds the bed to get in next to me. He lays down on top of the sheets and soothes one hand over my back. I’ve never felt so taken care of before. Like I’m the most important person in his whole world.
I’m practically asleep again already. “Did I really throw up on Josh’s shoes?”
The memory’s too vivid to be my imagination, but it doesn’t feel real.
“A surprising bit of revenge, princess.”
My eyes are closed, but I hear the smile in his voice. I love that smile.
I think maybe I love all of him. His gentleness and kindness. His ability to absolutely kick butt anywhere outdoors. The way he defends me and believes in me and encourages me to believe in myself.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” I whisper into the sheets.
His answer comes back soft and low. “It is my genuine pleasure.”
I love Grant’s heart. It was taken for granted in the past, but I would cherish it. I would always know what a gift it is to be able to love him and be loved by him.
And I would never, ever puke on his shoes.
THIRTY-ONE
GRANT
“Areyou sure you’re up for this?” I ask.
Lila squeezes my fingers. “I’m always up for shopping.”
The stomach bug kept her home for three days. I cooked for her when she could handle solid food, read to her when she got tired, and made myself scarce when she drew herself a bath to refresh.
But now, she seems to have her energy back. Her color’s better, too, and her eyes have lost the dark circles that marred them when the fever raged. I suggested she get some fresh air, and she opted for this outing—walking down to her sister’s store to help me buy gifts for my mom and Eliza.
I’m not an avid shopper, but I don’t think there’s much she could suggest we do that I would turn down.
“Tell me about your mom,” she says. “What kinds of things does she like? What’s her style?”
I’ve never given my mom’s style a second’s thought. Does that make me a bad son or an average one? “Pretty relaxed. She mostly wears clothes she gets from our vendors. Outdoorsy chic is a thing.”
Lila snorts, but it’s true. Our bigger stores carry some pretty nice dresses, all designed to be lightweight and breathable.
“She likes an expensive perfume Dad buys her every year. She’s well organized.”
I’m a little embarrassed I can’t be more articulate about what she likes.
“So…some nice things, but mostly casual?”
“Sounds about right.”
