Page 79 of Major Love

When we were having dinner last night, Sunday mentioned exploring the forest around the house while I’m at work, and as I step down from my truck I wonder if she managed to do that this morning.

I unlock my cell as I trudge toward the front door, swiping through to the tickets to the outdoor cinema screening. Just making sure that they’re still there.

I open them up and, after a moment, I smile.

Warmth spreads through my pecs, making them swell on a deep inhale, because I’ve been wanting this to happen since the moment I left the Army. I can’t believe my luck that Sunday decided to take a break from Nashville, and I’m going to do everything I can to show her that it was the right decision.

I open up the door – unlocked, meaning that Sunday’s inside – and I drop my work gear in the foyer, glancing around to see where she’s at.

I unzip my jacket and toss it on the couch, my gaze flicking toward her discarded laptop.

While she’s been staying at my place, she’s spent almost all of her time working on that thing. And if this is how busy she is on vacation, fuck knows how busy she must get on the regular.

I grip my hand around the neck of my sweater and pull it off over my head, making my way toward the stairwell seeing as she’s not on the first floor.

“Sunday?” I call up, climbing the stairs slow and steady.

I can’t wait to finally ask her out. Maybe get another kiss on the cheek before I grab a shower. I fucking love how natural it feels to have her staying over at my place, how easy it’s been to talk to her while getting a little flirty every now and then, too. It feels like we’re kids again, as close as we were way back in highschool, only now we’ve got maturity on our side and we both know exactly what we want.

And what I want is a shot at what we never truly started.

I want Sunday. And it’s time that she knows that.

“Sunday?” I call again, but then I’m coming to a stop at her bedroom doorway, as I take in the sight of her wrapped up in the centre of the bed.

She lifts her head about a millimetre before wincing hard and dropping it back down.

“Hey,” she whispers, her teeth chattering as she swallows quietly.

And I hesitate for barely a second before I’m thinkingfuck itand storming right in.

I immediately crouch down at the side of the bed, settling my forearms on the quilt beside her.

“What happened?” I ask immediately, my voice low as I look her over. “What’s wrong, Sunday? Did something happen?”

She starts to shake her head but then squeezes her eyes shut in pain, burying her face in the pillow so that she can moan through the sensation.

“Sunday, tell me what happened,” I repeat, my voice deeper this time.

And that gets her attention, but her brow quivers as she searches my eyes.

I take one of her bunched fists in the palm of my hand, and then I inhale a quick breath at the feel of how hot her skin is.

She’s sick, and it’s clear as day.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” she whispers breathlessly, “or, actually,Ishouldn’t be in here. I don’t want you to get sick. I should go drive to Haven’s.”

I bring my other hand to our joined ones because there’s no way that Sunday is driving anywhere when she’s sick.

“I’m serious,” she rasps, trying to sit herself up on one elbow. And as she attempts to find a position that doesn’t make her head spin, I flick a glance at what she’s wearing while she gets comfortable on the sheets.

She’s in a baby blue tank top and a pair of sleep shorts, her fluffy curls free of her signature ponytail.

Ill or not, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

My eyes linger on her pyjama top for a brief moment and then I clear my throat and meet her gaze.

“I’m not going to get sick,” I tell her. “But I can help you get better.”

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