Page 61 of The Best of Us

“Out of curiosity, does cold medicine make him feel drunk?”

I wasn’t sure why he was asking that or how he’d even guessed such a thing.

“Yeah, it affects him even more than alcohol does for me.”

His expression softened.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just confirming he’d never take drugs and was telling me the truth at the rave when I asked since a bunch of people were on them there.”

Chills coasted down my spine. “Ah, I see.” I shook my head. “He wouldn’t, no. You can believe him on that.”

“Good,” he said firmly, rolling his lips inward momentarily as if feeling bad for doubting him. “Any other allergies I should know about?”

“Peanut. Both of us are allergic.”

He let out a sound that suggested displeasure, then walked over to one of the kitchen doors and vanished, reappearing from the pantry with a few bags of shelled peanuts.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Of course I do.”

I wasn’t going to argue; I already knew where that’d get me when it came to him. I was a quick study. Instead, I switched gears a bit. “Pineapple on your pizza?”

“Now you’re just screwing with me.” The man was about to be offended on behalf of all pizzas if I lied and said I loved pineapple with my pepperoni.

“Maybeeee.” I smiled as he resumed blocking my ability to escape with his body. “It’s good to know you take your pizza and action flicks so seriously.”

“As everyone should.” He winked.

If I weren’t already sitting down, I’d have been a puddle on the floor.

“You always plan to be a nurse?”

“Doctor. Our son changed things.” Before he could comment, I explained, “My father graciously offered to help me pursue becoming a pediatrician as originally planned once Colin was a bit older, but I decided to go the nursing route. And honestly, I couldn’t be happier.”

“And you love your current job?”

“I do. Why do you ask?”

“Because I’d like to know if you want to keep it.”

“Oh, um, no. No, no, no.” I waved my arms, nearly falling off the counter, but he swiftly touched my waist, keeping me there. “You are not supporting us both. I won’t quit my job and rely on you.”

“I plan to support you both, whether you like it or not,” he said in a deep, authoritative voice I was now becoming all too familiar with, “but I’d never ask you to quit your job unless you want to. I’m not a controlling asshole.” He let go of my waist as if suddenly realizing where his hand was. “Okay, well, sometimes an asshole, but never to people I love.”

“Something tells me you’re also a touch controlling.” I held my hand between us and indicated a smidge with two fingers.

He reached out and spread open my fingers. “That’s probably more realistic.”

“At least you’re honest.” I laughed, and wow, that felt good. Like medicine for the soul. “So, the job question, then. Why?”

“Because I can’t let you go back to work until it’s safe.”

That closet door full of skeletons popped open in my mind like a jack-in-the-box at his reminder we weren’t safe. Mentally shoving the door closed, not ready to face reality again, I told him, “I can’t take time off from work. I’ll lose my job.”

“If you want to keep your job, I’ll make sure it’s there for you when it’s safe for you to return.”

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