And Then You

by Amanda Richardson

  “I dunno,” I mumble, and I go to set the soup down. “I can’t find my thermometer,” I say.

  “Oh,” he says, and walks over to where I’m standing. “Can I…?” He reaches his hand and holds it over my forehead. I nod, and his cool palm touches me gently. His hand feels so cold against my burning skin, and I know instantly that I still have a fever.

  “Wow, you’re burning up, Evi.”

  “What did you just call me?” I smile weakly.

  “Evi?”

  “You always call me Evianna. That’s the first time you’ve called me Evi.”

  “No, it’s not,” he says, and then he looks up, his face scrunched in thought. “Is it?”

  “Yeah,” I laugh.

  “But really, you definitely have a fever. Sit down and eat some soup. I’m going to get the thermometer, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say, and I take a seat on my couch.

  He walks back outside, and I try to gulp down some soup. It’s unsuccessful. I don’t even have an inkling of an appetite. I lie down and throw my arm over my head. God, I feel like shit. My headache is back, and I hear Nick come through the front door again. The couch sags where he sits next to me, and I can feel his warmth next to me even though my eyes are closed.

  “Under your tongue,” he says, and I open my mouth. He puts the thermometer in and a few seconds later it beeps. “Fuck, Evi. One hundred and three.”

  “No wonder everything is spinning,” I babble.

  “How much water have you had today?”

  “Umm…” I open my eyes guiltily. “A few sips.”

  “You’re probably dehydrated,” he says, and before I realize what’s happening, his arms are under me and he’s lifting me up into a sitting position. He grabs the glass of water that he brought over. It’s chilled, and I drink the whole thing down to appease him.

  “There,” I say, satisfied.

  He just watches me, and his eyes are hooded with concern.

  “One hundred and three is really high. I should stay here and make sure you’re drinking a lot of fluids.”

  “No, that’s not necessary, Nick. You need to watch Bria. I’m sure you guys have fun things planned today.”

  “Nah. It’s raining, and she wanted to watch that damn movie again.” His lips curve upwards into a smile. “I could have Cecelia come over.”

  “No,” I say more urgently. “Really, I’m fine.” Just as I say it, I get really dizzy, and I slowly lower myself back down onto the couch. “Just a dizzy spell. It’s nothing.” I close my eyes for a minute, and when I reopen them, Nick is texting on his phone.

  “Cecelia will be over in twenty minutes.”

  “Nick.” I groan. “I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.”

  He looks at me and smiles, and his one crooked incisor just does me in.

  I am a total goner.

  “I know,” he says quietly.

  I don’t look away, and instead his eyes burn into mine. It’s probably my fever, but my whole body begins to burn in a way it never has with him—or at least, in a way I haven’t recognized before. I try not to notice how his flannel shirt is unbuttoned ever so slightly, or how his hair is messy, or how he seems so comfortable here, sitting next to me.

  “Want to watch TV?” I suggest, and he nods, grabbing the remote.

  “Have you eaten any soup?”

  “A bite or two. Please don’t make me eat it,” I beg.

  He laughs. “Is it that bad? Damn. I made it from scratch.”

  “What? Seriously?”

  He shrugs. “I didn’t have anything else to do today. Bria helped me. There’s a whole pot in my fridge.”

  “Oh.” I digest his words. He spent the whole morning making soup. For me. “It was delicious. I just don’t have an appetite.”

  “Okay,” he says, and he gets up. “I’ll put it in the fridge for later.”

  I hear him bang around in the kitchen, but I don’t have the energy to look and see what he’s doing. Next thing I know, he’s sitting next to me again, and this time, he props my legs up on his lap.

  “Umm,” I say quietly. “What are you doing?”

  “Just thought you’d want to be comfortable while we watch”—his eyes squint at the TV—“The Breakfast Club.”

  “I love this movie,” I whisper. I feel the lull of sleep take over.

  *

  When I wake up, Nick is still seated next to me, and he’s holding a damp washcloth to my forehead. It’s the ending sequence in The Breakfast Club—I slept through the whole movie. A part of me feels embarrassed that I fell asleep in front of Nick, but the other part, the sicker part, doesn’t care. It’s nice that he’s here.

  “Hey,” I rasp, and his eyes wander over to me.

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” he says tenderly. He looks at me, and I can’t help but blush. Somehow, this moment feels really intimate: my legs in his lap, his hand holding a washcloth to my forehead. The way he called me sleepyhead…

  “How long was I asleep?”

  “About an hour. It’s good. You need to rest.” He lifts the washcloth up and sets it down on the coffee table. “Kept that on your forehead. Try drinking some more water.”

  “Okay,” I whisper, and I have to keep from crying, because he’s being really sweet and caring right now.

  He gets up slowly, removing my legs from his lap. He goes over to my cabinet and gets a new glass. He acts like it’s his apartment—which technically, it is, I guess. That’s probably why he’s so comfortable here.

  “Where’s Bria?” I ask.

  “Out with Cecelia. They’re having a girls’ afternoon.” He sits back down next to me.

  “I’m sorry I tore you away,” I reply guiltily. “I know you don’t get very many days off.”

  “It’s fine. Bria loves her grandmother, and they both understood when I said I was keeping an eye on you.”

  I study him for a moment before replying. He’s watching TV again.

  “Nick?” I ask.

  His eyes wander to mine lazily—comfortably. It startles me. He’s made himself at home here, with me.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry about yesterday. It wasn’t right of me to argue with you over what you decide to teach Bria. She’s your daughter, and you have full control over what you teach her.”

  His face softens, and I swear, I know he wants to touch me so badly. Not in a sexual way, but in a tender, loving way. His hand resigns and plops onto my knee. The contact does something funny to my insides.

  “No, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I got so mad. I guess I just don’t want her to be disappointed in life ever again, and if I can save her from that, in any way…” He trails off.

  “I get it. I really do.”

  “You were right, though. You said I should make some room in my heart for the unimaginable, and I’m trying. I’m trying really, really hard.” He stares down at me, and I have a feeling that he’s not talking about Bria anymore. “You’re chipping away at everything I thought I once believed, Evi. Little by little.”

  I feel my heart slam against my chest.

  Yes, heart, I know you’re in there.

  I sit up and face Nick, because I feel like I should. Because right now, he’s looking at me like maybe, just maybe, he might kiss me. The soft lines around his eyes crinkle, and he reaches a hand out to mine. It’s a casual-enough gesture, but I know it means so much more. I put my hand in his, and he gives it a small, knowing squeeze.

  “Truth or dare?” he asks, and a playful smile breaks out on his face.

  “What? Seriously? I thought Would You Rather was our thing.”

  “It was. I’m ready to take it to the next level.”

  Wow.

  “Truth or Dare is extremely dangerous,” I warn. “Also, I’m feverish and feeling a bit loopy, so I can’t be trusted with answering appropriately. Or asking appropriate questions, for that matter.”

  “That’s why I suggested it,” he says slowly, almost growl
ing. It shocks me. It turns me on.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “Fine. Since you are the one who suggested it, you ask first.”

  He smiles and watches me. Our hands are still connected, and I’m acutely aware of how close he is to me right now. We’re inches apart.

  “Truth or dare?”

  “Truth. I’ll almost always pick truth.”

  “Good.” He leans in a few inches closer. “Evianna, what is your worst fear?”

  I’m taken aback. I wasn’t expecting a serious answer right off the bat.

  “Hmm…” I look away. “Probably losing someone close to me. Losing Elijah,” I say, and I know at once that I’m telling the truth.

  “Your brother?”

  “Yeah. He’s twelve.”

  “I’d like to meet him one day,” Nick says. “Your whole family, actually. Bria and I could go over for dinner one night.”

  “Um, sure,” I answer. “We do weekly dinners. You guys could come next week,” I suggest, and instantly I regret it. I’m not sure I can handle Nick Wilder in my childhood home. And my mother knows about us! Oh my god, what did I just agree to?

  “We’ll be there,” he says smoothly, pulling his hand away from mine and leaning back with his arms behind his head. “Your turn.”

  “Okay. Truth or dare?”

  “Truth. Always.”

  I smile.

  “What is the one question that you do not want me to ask?”

  He looks at me, confused. “That’s… that’s a very clever truth question, Ms. Halle.”

  “I told you. I cannot be held accountable for my questions right now. So? Tell me.”

  He adjusts himself so that he’s facing me fully. His smile has disappeared, and he looks at me seriously. The happy crinkles around his eyes have been replaced with deep furrows on his forehead, and he looks down as he answers.

  “Are you ready?” he says, quietly.

  “What?”

  His eyes slide up to mine, and suddenly I see so much sorrow, so much grief.

  “That’s the one question I don’t want you to ask. Are you ready.”

  I look down, and I can’t believe I’m about to ask, but I do anyways.

  “And what would your answer be?”

  I keep my gaze downcast and close my eyes.

  Please don’t say no. I already know my heart would break if he said no.

  “I honestly don’t know,” he says, and my eyes fly up to his. They’re still sad and furrowed, but I see something else, too. As he looks at me, I know he’s telling me the truth. “But I have hope.” Hope. That’s what I see behind the grief. Hope.

  With that, he gets up and walks over to the front door. I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to run over and kiss him passionately, but I also want to walk over and hug him. I don’t do anything. He opens the door and looks back at me.

  “Eat some soup. I’ll come check on you later tonight.”

  Before I have a chance to respond, he’s gone.

  Twenty-six.

  Nick

  We crossed a line. We never said anything explicitly, but we crossed a boundary the day she was sick. I can tell—in the ways our hands brush briefly and her eyes fly up to mine, as if she was burned. In the way she stays away, even when I invite her to eat dinner. In the way she watches me when she thinks I can’t see her.

  I’ve been away a lot, and I miss her.

  But for now, I just have to concentrate on work and Bria. I can’t get distracted. It’s just hard not to be distracted when she shows up every morning, and every morning I feel like I should be kissing her good morning instead of waving and leaving.

  And I’m starting to wonder if it’s too good to be true.

  Maybe she’s a rebound.

  Maybe I just need to have some casual fun.

  Maybe it’s been so long since I’ve been with a woman. Maybe I’m only reacting this way because we’re in such close proximity all the time.

  That makes sense.

  But then why does she make me feel like I’m the luckiest guy around when she smiles at me?

  Twenty-seven.

  Evianna

  The next couple weeks fly by. I’m busy with Bria because Nick is out of town, and we spend our time carving pumpkins and getting ready for Halloween, which seems to be a favorite holiday in the Wilder household. I volunteer to finish sewing Bria’s costume—Cecelia was working on it, but she sprained her wrist—and we get the house ready for the annual Wilder Halloween party.

  I learn early on that this is the first year without Isabel, since Nick didn’t throw a party last year, for a good reason, so I feel obligated to make it the best one yet. I’m excited because we leave for Mexico in two weeks, and I spend a lot of my time trying not to think about being in paradise with Nick, especially after our game of Truth or Dare a couple weeks ago.

  I still don’t know what to think about it all. I haven’t seen Nick very much since then. He’s been acting distant, and I’ve started to avoid him as a precaution. I mill his words around every single day, but it doesn’t seem to help. His answer—I have hope—was just cryptic enough for me to obsess over what it means. So I stop obsessing, and I focus on the exciting events ahead: the masquerade party and our trip to Mexico.

  Two weeks after our game of Truth or Dare, Nick sends me an email saying he’ll be late to dinner at my parents’ house. We’d been trying to plan something with my family and Bria, and we’d been unsuccessful thus far, but tonight might actually work out.

  Nick is returning home from a three-day business trip, and his flight is delayed. He insists that I take Bria to my parents’, and that he’ll meet us there shortly after. I pile Bria in my car (something I’ve gotten really good at, considering how small my car is) and we head over, talking about her Belle costume the whole way.

  “You’re here!” my mom squeals as we walk in. Bria looks around. “Welcome, Bria!”

  “Evi, thith ith where you grew up?”

  “Yes, this is it!” I look around, and I realize it may seem somewhat unimpressive to a five-year-old like Bria, who lives in luxury. But she just smiles and walks around, taking everything in.

  “Nice of you to bring her,” my mom whispers. “When will Nick be joining us?”

  “Umm,” I answer, checking my phone. “He’s landing any minute. So it depends, but probably in an hour or so.”

  I look around for Bria, and she’s talking to Elijah, who is seated on the couch, reading.

  “What are you reading?” she asks shyly, and I notice that she blushes. Blushes! A five-year-old! I make a mental note to tell Nick.

  “Lord of the Rings,” Elijah replies. “Ever read it?”

  “Elijah, she’s five,” I say. He just shrugs his shoulders. “Bria, are you hungry?”

  It’s weird having her here, in my territory. But at the same time, it’s kind of cool.

  “No,” she replies, and she sits down next to Elijah. “Can you read it to me?”

  Elijah shrugs again—his gesture of choice as an almost-thirteen-year-old—and begins to read out loud. I smile. Bria is such an open person, so accepting, and she genuinely likes people. I wish more adults were like her.

  “Sweetie, do you want a drink?” my mother asks, and she ushers me into the dining room. “What does Nick like to drink?”

  “Mom, he’ll have whatever I have. You don’t have to go all out.”

  “Has anything… happened?”

  I sigh. Because the truth is, nothing has ever really happened. I’m beginning to feel like it’s just some made-up, schoolgirl crush. I begin to question whether or not the game of Truth or Dare actually happened the way I remember it, or if I imagined it because I was feverish.

  “Nothing, Mom. Nothing has happened, and you know what? I’m okay with that. I don’t think he feels the same way about me, so that makes it easier to get over.”

  “I think you’re wrong. I do. The things you’ve told me… like I said before, you can’t help wh
om you fall in love with. Sometimes the greatest relationships are the ones you never expected to be in. The ones that sweep you off your feet and challenge every view you’ve ever had.”

  “Nick will never love me like he loved Isabel,” I say quickly.

  “Sweetie, don’t you get it?” I look at her and cock my head in confusion. “He does. It’s already happening. Whether you like it or not. Whether or not it’s the same kind of love as the love he had for Isabel. It might be different, but it’s sure as hell just as strong.”

  I want to cry. I can’t even remember the exact moment I fell for Nick. That’s what’s so surprising. It happened slowly, but that didn’t make it any less strong. She’s right.

  “Just… think about what I’m saying. I know it’s hard, but—”

  “Mom, stop. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Okay,” she says, appeasing me. She sips her wine and looks around, avoiding eye contact. “Excited for your trip?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “I’m excited to lie on a beach and forget everything for a little bit.”

  “And the party! I have friends who have heard about the Wilder Halloween party. I guess it’s the biggest Halloween party in town.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t know how big it’ll be this year. It’s the first year without Isabel, and they didn’t throw one last year. According to Cecelia, Isabel was quite the socialite, and she used to throw all kinds of awesome parties.”

  “It’ll be fun,” she says, and she gets herself a glass of wine. “Want one?”

  “Sure.”

  “Bria seems to like Elijah,” my mother adds.

  “Bria likes everyone.”

  “That’s good, considering what happened to her,” my mother whispers. “I still can’t think about it without crying.”

  “I know. But she seems okay. She hasn’t even had a nightmare since my first night.”

  “I think you’re helping with that.” My mother hands me a wine glass, and we click them together to say cheers.

  “What do you mean?”