Finding Him (Covet 2)

“Not one word.”

I got down on my haunches so we were at eye level, and very slowly ran the towel across her cheeks, getting the makeup off, and then behind her neck, lifting her hair. I tried like hell to manage the shaking. The last thing she needed to be was worried about me when she was the one on her hands and knees in my guest bathroom. “Do you need to puke again?”

She shook her head slowly, strands of blonde hair flipping sluggishly in a kind of delayed reaction. Then she gave me a pitiful look that told me everything I needed to know. She wasn’t feeling great.

“Okay.” I helped her to her feet. “Okay. I think we need to get something other than donuts in your system. I don’t really have much food. We can go out—”

She paled further. I wasn’t sure if it was the company or the idea of being in public and feeling like shit, maybe both.

“Why don’t we order in?”

She exhaled. “You really don’t have to, I mean I should probably head home and—”

“No,” I interrupted her. “You know what’s worse than being alone on your birthday?”

Her lips trembled a bit as she pressed them together. “What?”

I tucked her hair behind her head and kissed her forehead. “Being alone when you feel like shit.”

She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath and then nodded. “That’s true. I don’t know if I told you, but I’m crashing at my parents’ apartment until I figure out what I want to do. They’re not here, so it’s just this big, empty . . . lonely thing.”

“I know big, empty, lonely things well,” I teased. “Let me take care of you, friend to friend.”

She relented. “That would be good. I haven’t eaten much, and I think it’s just . . . a lot, talking about Noah, sitting here . . .” She gulped and looked into my eyes. “With you, I mean it feels heavy, I don’t know how I ever thought I could do this on my own.”

She wasn’t on her own, though.

She had me.

I gave her an easy smile and said, “Then as your typist and friend”—hate that damn word—“I say we call it quits for the day, put on a movie, eat, and just . . . relax. Hang out. Alright?”

“You’re not busy?” she asked in a voice that basically said Please don’t be busy.

And I loved it.

I loved that she wanted to stay.

Even if it gave me false hope that we could be anything other than what we already were.

Maybe if we didn’t have this book between us.

Maybe if we didn’t have this guy that would be immortalized forever.

Maybe if it wasn’t less than a year after his death.

Maybe if we were both normal.

I ignored the way my thoughts tried to steal all the joy I had at being able to take care of her and said, “The only thing I have on my schedule for the next few days is you.” Right along with, honestly, wondering what the hell I would do when I had to actually go back to work instead of eat donuts with Keaton and live off the crumbs of her kisses.

She offered me a watery smile and then gave me a side hug that did more than cement us in the friend zone. It freaking catapulted us there with a giant middle finger.

And I was too far gone to even really care, wasn’t I?

I would take whatever I could get.

“Pizza sounds really good,” she said, interrupting my thoughts.

“Then pizza it is.” I kissed her forehead and left her in the bathroom and went in search of my phone. The old Julian would have said something snarky about eating pizza, only because I’d always been so particular about what I ate, even shaming Izzy, when she was still my fiancée, for eating chocolate.

Shit, I had been an asshole.

With Keaton, I would be pissed if she went on a diet. I wanted her to eat, because eating meant she was healthy, it meant she was okay.

It meant no more puking.

It meant a strong immune system.

Already I was feeling better that it was just something minor, like emotional stress over the situation.

Strange how almost dying puts everything into perspective . . . even eating a piece of damn pizza.

“Extra pepperoni!” She appeared back in the living room looking like she needed to sit down.

So I ordered the pizza and a double order of breadsticks, then promptly grabbed a blanket and tucked her in tight on the couch. “Relax and I’ll get you something to drink. Rosé good?” I watched some light return to her eyes and immediately exhaled in relief.

“Hmm, chilled?”

“Is there any other way to rosé?” I joked.

“Ah, he’s got dad jokes.” She burst out laughing.

“Hey, I can be cheesy.” I winked, enjoying the way her laugh filled my empty, lonely apartment.