Defeated, I drop down on the couch. The smell of dinner reminds me I have a huge pot of spaghetti waiting and ready. I hate that she’s not feeling well. I should have offered to pick her up and pamper her all night. That’s when it hits me. I can go to her. Hopping to my feet, I head to the kitchen to pack up the spaghetti. I throw in the box of brownies, and a bottle of Advil just in case she runs out. Once I have it all packed up, I carry it out to my truck, then rush back to close up the house. If she seems like she doesn’t want me there, I’ll leave her with dinner and go. I’m just hoping she wants me there and lets me in to take care of her.
Heading to her house, I’m passing the pharmacy when an idea hits me. I turn around and park in front of the building. On my phone, I pull up treatment for her “woman problem” symptoms. Once in the store, I pick up a heating pad, some medicine called Midol, some other chocolate alternatives, and a pint of her favorite cherry cordial ice cream. Armed and ready, I drive the remaining two blocks to her place.
Armed with dinner and my pharmacy purchases, I head up the back steps to her apartment over the shop. Using my elbow, I lightly knock on the door. When the door opens, there’s surprise written all over her face.
“Dinner was already made. You have to eat, right? And I stopped and picked you up a few things.” I lift the hand that’s holding the pharmacy bag.
“That looks like more than a few things.”
I shrug. “I wanted you to have options.”
“Come in, you crazy man.” She laughs, stepping back from the door so I can enter her tiny apartment. “Let me take some of that,” she offers.
“I’ve got it.” I make my way to the small kitchen area and set the bags on the counter. “You go sit. I’ll make you a plate.”
“Ty, I’m cramping not dying.”
“I don’t care if it’s because you broke a nail. I’m taking care of you tonight. Go. Sit.” I kiss the corner of her mouth and go back to plating up dinner. “Here you go,” I say a few minutes later, handing her a plate of spaghetti.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”
“I made this for you. Only seems fair you get to eat it.”
“I’m sorry I bailed on you tonight.”
“Things happen. I’m just glad I get to see you. And then there’s the fact that you get to eat my spaghetti.”
She takes a big bite. “Delicious,” she says after she’s swallowed it all.
“It’s not gourmet, but it’ll do.” We finish our dinner making small talk. When we’re both done, I take the plates to the kitchen, wash them, and place them on the drainer. “You ready for dessert?”
“No. I’m stuffed.”
“Need anything from the kitchen?”
“No, thank you. Ty, you don’t have to take care of me.”
Grabbing the bottle of Midol the pharmacy suggested, the heating pad, and a bottle of water, I head back to the living area.
“What is all that?”
“Well, I stopped to get you some more medicine in case you were out, and the pharmacist suggested this.” I hand her the small bottle. “Then my internet search said a heating pad helps, and I brought chocolate and your favorite ice cream.”
She stares up at me, her mouth hanging open. She closes it and then opens it a few more times before she actually speaks. “Tyler,” she whispers, tears shimmering in her eyes.
“Hey.” I crouch down to my knees and cup her face in my hands. “I just want to take care of you. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“These are good tears.” She smiles. “Damn hormones.”
“Do you mind if I stay?”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” she says, wiping her eyes.
I plug in the heating pad and hand it to her. “You need those?” I point to the bottle she’s still holding.
“Not yet. I just took some.”
Nodding, I take the bottle and the bottle of water and set it on the small coffee table. “Stand up for a minute.” She does as I ask, and I lie down on the couch, patting the spot in front of me.
“There’s not much room,” she says, looking at the small couch.
“Perfect. That means you’ll be even closer. Come here.” I pat the spot again. This time she lies down in front of me. Taking the heating pad from her, I turn it on and place it over her belly, over her shirt, not wanting her skin to get too hot. I wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly as her head rests in the crook of my arm. “We forgot the remote,” I say, realizing the TV is off.
She giggles and manages to reach out to the table without falling off the couch to snag the remote. “What do you want to watch?”
“You choose.”
“More Hart of Dixie?”
“Yeah,” I agree, knowing it’s what she wants.
“This isn’t going to work. Let’s go to my room. We’ll have more space.” She stands, and I let her. I watch as she unplugs the heating pad, and heads to the door that leads to her room. Gathering the bottle of medicine and her water, I follow her.
She climbs in bed already having the heating pad plugged in. Once settled, I wrap her in my arms. She pulls up the second season of her show and hits Play. I bury my face in her neck and breathe her in. I’ve wanted this with her for so long. It’s still surreal that she’s here in my arms instead of at arm’s length.
“Ty,” she whispers.
My eyes are closed. I didn’t sleep last night. Lying here with her, I’m so damn comfortable. “Yeah, baby?” I answer, keeping my eyes closed.
“Thank you for tonight.”
“Never thank me for taking care of you, Reagan.”
“Most men—”
“I’m not most men.”
“Will you stay?”
“I was planning on it.” That seems to settle her as she relaxes into me. I don’t remember much after that. Just the feeling of contentment that washes over me before I drift off to sleep.
Chapter 9
Reagan
* * *
Today has been one crazy, shit-tastic day. It started out waking up alone. It’s only been two weeks since Ty and I started whatever this is between us, and I’m already used to his strong arms wrapped around me. They had a job out of town the last two days, so he and Kent just stayed there. I guess it was something to do with a door they installed about six months ago. I don’t know; I didn’t ask for details. All I knew is that I was sleeping alone.
Then, my first client of the day was a little girl who’d just turned three. Her hair had never been cut. Mom wanted it cut to her shoulders, so it was more manageable. Fine, no biggie. Except, to the little girl it was huge. She was crying as soon as her mom sat her in the chair. So, we had Mom hold her instead. Still crying. Lots and lots of crying. So much crying that she made herself sick. All over her mom, and me since I was cutting her bangs. Luckily, I live above the shop, so a quick shower and change wasn’t a big deal except for it put the rest of my morning behind. I had my afternoon blocked out to visit the supply house a couple of towns over. I always try to get in and out before five so that I miss all the rush-hour traffic. Well, today, that didn’t happen. I sat in traffic for over thirty minutes, which isn’t terribly long, but after the day I’ve had, it was too long for me.
Now, here I am about ten miles outside town, ten miles from home sitting on the side of the road. I heard a loud pop over the radio, so I stopped to see what I hit, if anything. Lo and behold, what did I find? A flat freaking tire. “Damn it.” I kick the offending object but it does nothing to make me feel any better.
I have the back of my car loaded down. The trunk is full of supplies that I will have to unload to get to the spare tire, and then load them again. I can do it. I know how to do it. But this isn’t a
good stretch of road to be doing that on. So, I call my parents. I don’t get an answer, but then I remember Mom saying they were going to the movies this evening. Shit. Ending the call, I dial Ridge.
“Hey, sister,” he greets me.
“Ridge, where are you right now?”
“At the shop. What’s wrong?” Concern fills his voice.
“Nothing really. I have a flat out on South Bend Road. I can change it, but my car is loaded down with supplies.”
“That’s too dangerous,” he says, reading my mind. “Where on South Bend?”
“About ten miles or so outside of town.”
“Stay in your car, put on your flashers. I’m headed to you now.”
I sigh with relief. “Thank you.”
“Hang tight,” he says, ending the call.
Locking my doors and hitting the button for my flashers, I start the car to run the air conditioning. It’s hot as hell today. I point all the vents toward me, letting the breeze cool my heated skin. My phone rings, pulling me out of my cool zen. Glancing at it in the cup holder, expecting it to be my parents or Ridge, I smile when I see Tyler’s name on the screen.
“Hello.” I sigh into the phone.
“Reags? What’s wrong?”
“What makes you think something’s wrong?”
“The sound of your voice.”
“You can’t possibly know that.”
“I do. Tell me what’s wrong.” His voice holds no room for negotiation.
“It’s been a shit day. It’s good to hear your voice.” It sounds crazy even to me, but just hearing his voice makes it all better, makes this day better.
“Did you miss me, baby?” he says, his tone lighter.
“I did,” I confess.
“I missed you too. But you’re not getting out of this. Tell me what’s wrong. Why was this a shit day?”
I go through my spiel, starting with the morning to my present state. “Don’t get out of your car. That stretch of road is dangerous. Too many curves and hills, and the shoulder has zero space to move around. People drive like maniacs on that road.”