He moved my hands to his ass and looped his arms around my waist. As “Auld Lang Syne” began to play and we swayed to the music, he whispered against my lips, “Happy birthday, baby.”
It was a miserable gray day a couple of weeks later. I was in my office setting up a spreadsheet for a possible client when I heard a key in the lock. A glance at the clock on my computer showed that it was only midafternoon. I got up and went into the foyer, just as Wills let himself in the door.
“You’re home early, babe. What’s up?” When I would have kissed him, he held his hand out.
“Stay away from me.” Before I had the chance to feel hurt, he gave a violent sneeze.
“Bless you.”
“Thank you. Dammit. I think I’m coming down with something. I’ve been sneezing all afternoon.”
“Oh, babe…”
“I feel like shit.” There were twin spots of hectic color on his cheeks. “Mr. Vincent took one look at me and sent me home.”
“You need to be in bed.” I rubbed his shoulders. “I’ll make you something that will be good for what ails you.”
“I’m not hungry.” He pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
“Good thing. I don’t have any soup in the fridge, and I’ll have to make it from scratch. Chicken, okay?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“If you’re just gonna talk bullshit, keep your mouth shut.”
“Yes, sir.” He gave a massive shiver.
“Asshole.” I pressed my palm to his forehead. “You’re hot.”
“I know, babe. You’ve told me that often enough.” He tried for a jaunty, devil-may-care grin, but it wasn’t very successful. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, and his nose could have rivaled Rudolph’s. He removed his overcoat and hung it in the closet.
“Smart ass. I think you’re running a fever. What happened to your—Wills! Your shirt! Your suit jacket!”
He sneezed.
“Bless you.”
“Thanks. That’s what happened to them. I was drinking a cup of coffee and sneezed. Man, I was lucky I didn’t get it on Mr. Vincent. I sneezed so hard I thought my brains were gonna shoot out my ears.”
I patted his shoulder. “Poor baby. Okay, get out of those clothes and into your flannel jammies.”
“Hah ha. Would you…” Wills sneezed again.
“Bless you.”
He sighed. “That’s gonna get old real fast, Theo.”
I kissed his cheek. “Not for me. I bless every day that you’re in my life.”
“Ah, babe…” Another sneeze. “I’m not supposed to get sick! An employee of…” Three violent sneezes in a row. “I’m not supposed to get sick!” He looked baffled.
“Right, tough guy.” I ruffled his hair gently, in case he also had a headache he hadn’t mentioned. “Go on. Take a couple of Tylenol, get changed, and get into bed. You want rice or pastina in your soup?”
“Rice please, Theo?”
“Okay. I’d better get it started now. And don’t worry about your suit. I’ll take it to the cleaners tomorrow.”
“Thanks, babe.”
I turned up the thermostat and went into the kitchen. Miss Su, the American Bobtail kitten he’d given me for Christmas, followed me.
“Mrrow?” She sat hopefully by her food bowl.
“Sorry, Miss Su. It isn’t time for your dinner.”
“Mrrow.” She blinked and came to me, stropping herself against my legs as if to assure me there were no hard feelings, then sauntered out of the room.
I took down a 6 quart soup pot from the pot rack Wills had built for me and suspended from the ceiling, and filled it with cold water. We’d gone food shopping a couple of days earlier, and there was a package of chicken breasts in the fridge. I pulled it out, rinsed them off, and put them in the pot. Once it came to a boil, I’d skim off the scum and turn the flame down so it would simmer gently for an hour and a half.
Wills might not be hungry enough to eat the chicken tonight, but he could have it tomorrow. And if he wasn’t in the mood for it, I could always make chicken salad.
As for the rice, I didn’t keep minute rice in the house, and it would take at least half an hour for it to cook, so I’d wait until the soup was almost done.
While the soup simmered, I took a can of ginger ale from the fridge, popped the top and stuck a straw in it, and went into the bedroom. Wills was nowhere to be seen, but the bathroom door was open, and I heard the toilet flush and the water run.
“You okay in there, Wills?” I put the can of soda on the night table by his side of the bed and switched on the electric blanket so the sheets would be nice and warm.
“Almost done, babe.”
The weak, wintry afternoon sunlight spilled through the windows, and I pulled the curtains closed and turned on the bedside lamp.
Wills’s gun wasn’t in sight, and I assumed he’d put it in the gun safe on the top shelf in the closet, something he did no matter what. He’d left his jacket and trousers lying across the bed rather than dropping them on the floor, and I blew out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. If he was being careful of his clothes, then this wasn’t going to be one of those times when he came home from work so wiped he left them lying where they fell and succumbed to restless, disturbed dreams that left him even more wiped.