Page 33 of Next to You

His eyes heated, and he ran the back of his hand down my cheek before getting up. “Rest.” A soft smile traced across his face as he looked down at me, then bent to kiss my forehead softly.

Oh my.

I knew he was an affectionate man because, since we got here, I had noticed him holding it back a lot. I had seen him reach out to touch me and then pull away too many times to count.

He came back with a glass of—was that tea? And the Tylenol bottle.

“This is only cold tea, not iced. But you said caffeine would help, right? I’ll make coffee and breakfast when you wake up again.”

I sat up in bed and took the glass. “Thank you.” I swallowed the two offered pills and finished the tea.

When I returned the glass, our hands touched, and I shivered. “Sleep, sweetheart,” his tender, whispered voice had my heart racing. I was falling for him and amazed at how fast it was happening.

But was it fast when I’d known him since we were children?

It didn’t matter.

My feelings for him were growing regardless of such things as time, logic, or what anyone would think of me if I came out of this cabin in love with Spencer Cassidy.

Last night, when he said he was not a touchy-feely man, I almost laughed in his face. However, the thought that maybe it wasmewho made him want to be this way astounded me whenever I contemplated it. Physically, we were holding back, but emotionally, where it truly counted, we were moving at a pace so swift that it blew my mind.

After a few minutes of watching him move about the space, adding a log to the fire, water to the kettle on the stove for coffee, and all the little things that would take care of us during our stay, I drifted off to sleep.

This time I woke to the moonlight through the window, smiling when I saw Spencer sitting in the chair across from the sofa bed reading a book.

“How are you feeling?” He said once he noticed I was awake.

“A bit better, thankfully.”

“About that—I did something.”

“What?” I sat up, looking around. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh yeah, nothing bad.” He gestured to the edge of the bed, where a bathing suit was draped across the corner. “I have a few pots of water simmering on the stove. I’m going to run you a bath and wash your hair for you. The swimsuit is new; the tags are still on it. What can I say? Charlotte likes to shop.”

“Spencer…”

He held up a hand. “Then you can float, okay? Just like you told me. Stay put for now, though. You should eat first. I’ll make some toast.”

In the kitchen, he added bread to a pan on the stove, poured coffee from a thermos, and grabbed the Tylenol before coming back to me.

I smiled, half in shock, thanking him without words as I took them.

I owed him so many tacos—infinity tacos—tacos in numbers too great to count—for the rest of his life.

God, how I really wanted him to be mine.

My mind kept returning to last night. I would never forget a single detail of his face as he cared for me, so gentle, so worried. For the first time in years, hope bloomed in my heart. Real hope, not the kind you fool yourself with. But an actual belief thatSpencer and I could be good for each other. My soul swelled with feelings that I thought had long since died.

“Are you still dizzy?” he asked, his face filled with worry. I smiled to put him at ease.

“Not anymore.” I sipped coffee as he returned to the kitchen to finish the toast.

“Eat,” he said after handing me a plate. I set it in my lap and took a bite. He watched me intently as if trying to discern whether I was truly feeling better or trying to make him think I was so he wouldn’t keep fussing over me. “You look better,” he concluded, tipping his head to the side. “But I’m still taking care of you tonight. Last night was bad. I was worried sick about you.”

“I’ll let you take care of me,” I began, holding up a hand when he opened his mouth to interrupt.

“But?” He drawled as his lips tipped up in a grin.

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