Page 81 of The Mr. Right Checklist

After giving Destiny Tylenol, I put a cool washcloth on her forehead and a glass of water on the coffee table. I call Marshall as I head upstairs.

“Hey, Fletch. What’s up?”

“Are you busy? I need a favor.”

“Name it.”

“Destiny is sick and I need a few things, but I don’t want to leave her. Would you mind picking up some Gatorade, a bottle of Coke to settle her stomach, maybe some tea and crackers?”

“Peppermint tea helps nausea.”

Fuck. I should’ve known something was off when she ordered that. “Grab some please, and fuzzy socks if you can find them. The brighter the better, and . . .” I list off a few more things that I hope might help her feel better.

“I’m on it. You okay?”

“Yeah. I just . . .” I stop myself from saying it hurts to see her this way, because while this is probably just a virus, Marshall has suffered much worse. “I’m good. Thanks, man.”

I go from room to room, upstairs and down, changing linens and cleaning up puke, and throw a load of dirty laundry into the washer. Marshall texts to say he’s out front while I’m filling the bathtub for Destiny. I turn it off and head downstairs. I see Destiny is sleeping and meet Marshall at the front door. “Thanks, man.”

He hands me the bag. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s sleeping, but I’m about to get her into the tub.”

“Has she been sick all day?”

“Yeah. It started last night, but I didn’t know. I was at my place.”

“At least you’re here now. I know that look, and I remember the feeling that came with it. As much as this sucks, at least you know that cold heart of yours is still ticking.”

I half laugh, half scoff. “Right. Thanks again.”

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I will.” I close the door and take the bags into the kitchen. After putting the groceries away, I stuff the rainbow-colored socks in my back pocket and head back to Destiny. I hate waking her, but I think she’ll feel better when she’s cleaned up and her fever is down. Brushing a kiss to her head, I whisper, “Sunshine.”

Her eyes flutter open.

“Think you can handle a quick bath, so we can get you into clean clothes?”

She nods, and I carry her upstairs with her furry sentinels in tow. Molly lies across the threshold to the bathroom, and Clementine watches from behind her as I undress Destiny and help her into the bath. I kneel beside the tub and touch her cheek. “The Tylenol must be kicking in. You don’t feel quite as warm as you did earlier.”

“Mm.” She closes her eyes, and I gently bathe her. “Thank you,” she says weakly. “You shouldn’t stay. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Shh. I’m not going anywhere.”

Destiny dozes on and off throughout the day, but I’m able to keep her hydrated. Other than a few bouts of dry heaves in the afternoon, the nausea seems to have passed. Tylenol is keeping her fever at bay, and she was able to eat a few crackers and keep them down. It’s early evening, and she’s cuddled beneath a blanket with her head in my lap, wearing a clean pair of sweats and her new fuzzy socks, which perked her up for a few minutes when I put them on her. We tried to watch The Office, but she’s still too out of it to concentrate.

“I hope I didn’t get your family sick,” she says softly.

“You didn’t. I spoke with them earlier. They’re fine, and they hope you feel better soon.”

She falls quiet again, and I run my fingers through her hair. I combed it for her after her bath, but it’s tangled and messy again. “Would you like me to read to you?”

“You don’t have to. You’ve already done so much.”

“I’d like to, if you’re up to it. I think you’ll like this story I found.”

“You can try.” She closes her eyes.