Page 75 of Offside and Off-Limits
“Hey,” she says, rubbing her eyes.
“I heard you were sick, so I thought I’d bring you some supplies.”
Her features lift into a smile. “That’s so sweet of you. I’m not contagious, if you want to come in? But I warn you, the place is a mess.”
Wild horses could not stop me.
A moment later, we’re in her living room, a homey place with a wooden fireplace, comfy sofas, and evidence of kids all around, with pictures on the walls, a toy box under the window, and Benny’s hockey stick lying on a sofa.
Clara immediately starts to plump cushions, and as I reach out and place my hand on her shoulder it strikes me that I’m falling for a woman I’ve barely even touched, let alone kissed.
The old Cade would be looking at me like I was crazy right about now.
But the old me is gone. Buried. The new me is confident in his feelings for this woman here with me, and I know deep in my heart that she’s the one I want to be with.
“Stop. There’s no need to clean up on my account,” I say softly.
“But you’ve never been here before,” she protests.
“I’m not here for the décor, Triple. Sit. Put your feet up.”
She does as I instruct, and I sit beside her, pulling her feet to rest in my lap.
“What’s wrong? Is it a CFS flair?” I ask gently, my hand on her sock-clad feet.
“I think so. I woke up today feeling like my body was shot-full of lead. I didn’t want to have to call in sick, but I needed to take the day.”
“Dr. Bernice would be proud. You’re managing your energy levels.”
“And Owen would be relieved I’m not superhuman after all.”
“You’re pretty dang superhuman to me,” I say, and her lips lift into a small smile.
“I’m not sure there are all that many superheroes whose strength is being a mom to a couple of kids and trying to hold down a full-time job.”
“There should be. What brought this on? Have you been working too hard?”
“A little,” she replies, and she says it in such a way that makes me wonder if she’s holding something back.
“Is that all?”
She twists her mouth as she plays with her hands.
“You don’t have to tell me. I’m just concerned, that’s all.”
“No, I want to. I just needed some time to process it.”
“Is me heating up some chicken soup for you long enough?” I ask, only half joking.
“I think that should do it. But I can manage to heat some soup up. Thanks for bringing it.” She goes to move.
“Stay. Just tell me where the kitchen is and I’ll get this bad boy heated.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
A few minutes later, I have heated up the soup, found a tray, a spoon, and a napkin, and placed it on the coffee table in front of Clara.
