Page 28 of Love in the Time of Wildfires

It was strange to remember the first time he’d been here, when he strode into her apartment angry at being inconvenienced with her moving boxes and busted pipe, not wanting to do one damn thing for her. This time, she didn’t want his help, but all he wished for was to take care of her completely.

Despite living in this apartment for several weeks, it didn’t look much like a home. The walls were bare, and there wasn’t much beyond the essentials besides a single plant on her kitchen table. The few pieces of furniture appeared mismatched, much-loved hand-me-downs. Not that Logan could judge considering he’d lived in his place for two years and it looked much the same. Either way, it didn’t matter, and wasn’t why he was here.

He walked straight into the kitchen, setting the bag on the counter. “You have a fever?” Logan wasn’t a nurse, but he did have some basic training as a necessary part of the job.

“I don’t think so,” she replied, following him into the kitchen and slipping a strand of hair behind an ear.

Logan stepped closer, those big brown eyes of hers gazing at him, softening every hard edge of his instantly. He placed the back of his hand on her forehead because he forgot to buy a thermometer. “Are you getting the shivers?”

“No. It’s just a silly cold.”

While she was warm, she didn’t feel hot in a way that alarmed him.

Her eyes drifted to her refrigerator when she suddenly released a small gasp before grabbing something from the front of the appliance, shifting a fox magnet out of place. Whatever the item was, she held it to her chest protectively.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Her eyes were big as saucers, as though caught at something.

“What are you hiding, River?” It obviously was something she was embarrassed about, and he found this amusing.

In a flash, she shoved the item down the front of her pajama pants, but not before he caught a quick peek when one side bent over.

“Did you just stuff a picture of me down your pants?”

Her bottom lip shot out in a pout. “Don’t pick on me! I’m sick,” she said before dramatically throwing herself against the surface of the fridge, face first, as though in shame. “I . . . It was funny after I added all the animals, so I printed it out. It’s just a joke.”

“And now you just stuffed that picture down your pants.”

“I’m sick,” she wailed.

“In more ways than one,” he replied dryly.

This resulted in a stuffy laugh from her. “Oh, Logan. I want to die. I knew I shouldn’t have let you in.”

He got that she was embarrassed—but she had a picture of him on her refrigerator. And, yeah, she was trying to say it was a joke or whatever, but he liked that every day, when she opened her fridge, there was an image of him to greet her even while he was at some faraway job. Also, she stuffed that picture of him down her pants, and maybe that shouldn’t get him all bothered when the poor woman was under the weather, but it sparked some inappropriate feelings anyway. He might be the one getting a fever next, and it would be obvious if his face mask fogged over.

As funny and hot as the whole situation was, he turned to the counter, pulling stuff from the bag. “So I got you some chicken soup from the deli but also picked up a bunch of snacks since I know that’s more your thing. There’s orange juice, cold medicine, and this.” Logan offered a box of Kleenex.

She took it gingerly, holding it to her chest, her eyes welling with tears. “You bought me Kleenex? The real stuff?”

“What’s wrong? You don’t like it.” Logan was at a loss as to why this would make her emotional as though it had been a huge gesture.

“No, it’s so sweet. I’ve just been using this.” She indicated with a thumb the half-roll of toilet paper on another part of the counter.

“It’s just Kleenex. I don’t think it’s anything worth crying about,” he said while she pulled one out to mop up her tears.

“Sorry, I’m just kind of a mess when I don’t feel well and you’re being so nice.”

“Oh.” Nice wasn’t a trait he’d been putting much of an effort into these days, but he wanted to make things better for her. “Did you want anything to eat or drink?”

“I’m okay for right now. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble for me.”

“I just wanted to make sure you had some things so you didn’t have to go out.”

Her eyes filled with tears again. Logan scratched the back of his head, feeling sort of awkward when all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms.

A few days earlier, when she’d asked if she could hug him, she’d made it sound easy, effortless, like it had been the simplest question in the world. Her hug had felt enormous, as if capable of enclosing him despite her petite stature. He’d felt awkward then too, his body not allowing itself to revel in the gesture. Logan felt stuck, as much as he wanted it. But something had sparked in his chest then—like an old attic bulb flickering to life.