Stay with Me

“A bit,” I reply and walk over to fetch a blanket that’s folded on the back of a chair, then drape it over him. “Here, this will help.”

“Thanks.” He pulls the blanket up under his chin, and I roll my eyes as I walk over to dish up the soup for both of us.

“Soup’s on,” I announce as I carefully carry a bowl to him, setting it on the coffee table.

“No crackers?”

“I don’t use crackers, sorry,” I reply. If you want crackers, buy your own fucking crackers.

But I don’t say it because he doesn’t feel well, and neither do I, so I’m probably just overly touchy today. Dramatic. On edge.

Just as I sit to eat my own soup, he scowls.

“This is too hot.”

And, we’re done here.

“You know what, fuck this.” I set my bowl down and stand, reaching for my grocery bag. I open the NyQuil and take half the pills out, setting them on his counter. “I’m sick too, Wyatt. And I can not deal with your man cold today. So here’s some medicine, you have your soup, and you can just deal with the rest of it on your own. I don’t particularly want to hang out with you after yesterday anyway.”

“What do you mean—?”

“No. I’m out of here. I need a nap, my own bed, and I need to be alone. Goodbye.”

I march out of his house and over to mine. My phone is ringing in my hand, with Wyatt’s name flashing, so I decline the call and put my phone in airplane mode.

I want everyone to leave me the hell alone.

Once I’ve taken my medicine and crawled into bed, sleep comes swift and hard.

I slept for six hours. It was marvelous. My head is still packed, and I think I might resemble Medusa with the flying hair and crazy face, but at least I got some sleep.

I turn my phone on and sigh at the nine texts and two calls from Wyatt, not to mention the six hundred notifications on social media.

Six. Hundred.

I need an assistant.

I don’t check any of it. Instead, I set my phone aside and pad into the kitchen for some orange juice. I left my soup at Wyatt’s, so I don’t have any of that, but I do have crescent rolls in the fridge. I’ll just bake those up and eat them all.

Carbs don’t count when you’re sick.

I do thumb through some of the social media messages while the rolls bake. Some are from trolls, and those get deleted immediately. I answer a few of the easy questions and then set my phone aside again when the rolls are done.

I didn’t realize how hungry I was. Just as I set them all on a plate with a side of marinara, my doorbell rings.

If it’s Wyatt, he can just turn around and go home.

I open the door, only wide enough for my eye to peep through, and scowl.

“Hello, Wyatt.”

“I’m here to apologize for being a prick,” he says and holds up some beautiful flowers. “Please, let me in.”

I open the door and walk to the kitchen. I hear him walking behind me.

“I brought you soup, from Lily’s.”

“Lily’s, the deli?” I ask, my interest piqued.

“Yes, ma’am. I also brought ice cream.”

Okay, maybe he can hang out with me for a while. “What kind?”

“Cookies and cream.”

I turn to look at him. His nose is still red, and his eyes are tired. But they’re also full of hope and apology, and that’s what gets me.

“The flowers are pretty.”

“Also for you,” he says with a half-smile. What is it with men and their half-smiles that get a girl every time? “I truly am sorry. I was a complete baby, and that’s not okay. Ever, but especially when you’re also sick.”

“It’s not okay, ever, Wyatt. It’s not sexy, and it’s not fun. I was married to that for far too long, and I hated it.” I bite my lip. “But I also overreacted, probably because I’m also not feeling well, and I’m sorry for being short with you.”

“I understand,” he says with a nod. “I can promise to be an adult when I’m sick in the future.”

I take the flowers and put them in water, quiet while I work. “I don’t know if this should continue,” I finally say and turn to face him.

“What do you mean?”

“Seeing each other.” I bite my lip as he frowns. “Not just because of today. I mean, the man cold is annoying, but if it was a deal-breaker, relationships wouldn’t last through flu season.”

“So why then?”

“You’re nice. The sex is fun. I like being around you when you’re healthy.”

“Yes, I can see why we should stay far away from each other.”

I laugh and push my hands through my hair, reminded that I need a shower. “Okay, I’m going to be real with you because I don’t feel great, and I don’t have the brain space to dick around.”

“Excellent. Always be real with me, Amelia.”

I seriously love the way he says my name.

“I didn’t like the way you were talking to my sister yesterday.”

He frowns. “How was I talking to her?”

I sigh, realizing that this sounds absolutely ridiculous. Crazy, even. “Okay, backstory. My ex flirted with everyone. My family included. Especially my family, probably because he knew it drove me nuts.”

“I wasn’t flirting with your sister,” he says, frowning.

“You took a lot of interest in her,” I reply. “And please understand, I don’t think you were hitting on my sister not even thirty minutes after you’d been intimate with me. I don’t think you’re a monster.”

“Well, that’s encouraging.” His eyes are narrowed now, and he looks genuinely pissed off. “I was engaging your sister in small talk to take your family’s focus off of you, Amelia. They were both hell-bent on making you feel like shit for not calling them the minute you got to town, and I could see how uncomfortable you were.”

“Oh.”

I hadn’t considered that.

And I feel ashamed. Deflated. And honestly pissed because, again, I let my past relationship influence my reactions to a man who has been nothing but wonderful to me.

“I don’t know your family dynamic, and it’s honestly none of my business, but it frustrated me, and I was trying to help, not piss you off.”

“I wasn’t pissed.” It’s a total lie.

“Yes, you were. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be talking about not seeing me again.”

I shrug. “Okay, I was pissed.”

He walks to me and folds me in his arms, holding me close. He presses his lips to my forehead.

This is unexpected. I tell him I can’t see him anymore, and he holds me?

“I have baggage,” I murmur into his chest. “I guess I didn’t realize how much.”

“We all have baggage,” he replies and nudges my face up to look at him. “But don’t run from me, Amelia. Talk to me. Let me help, or apologize, or work on it. Don’t run.”

“This is still new, Wyatt.”

“And it’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. I’m not afraid to admit that.” He kisses my forehead again. “Now I know what one of your triggers is, and I can make sure you aren’t uncomfortable in the future. You just have to tell me, baby.”

“Are you for real?” I stare up at him, completely surprised by him. “You’re not a robot, are you?” I pinch him. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">