Page 153 of The Persistence of Thornes
While I wait for him to return, I channel surf. Eventually I come across a documentary on penguins, but within minutes, I’m tearing up over the real footage of a sea lion chasing one into the water and capturing it.
No, thank you. Instead, I settle on a Hallmark movie. Cheesy, predictable, and exactly what I need while I’m still recovering from this bug.
The stairs squeak beneath Caleb’s feet, and when he appears, he proudly holds out a piece of buttered toast on a plate. “Your breakfast, milady.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And a glass of water.” He sets a glass on the nightstand and the plate in my lap.
“Don’tyou have work to do?”
He settles into the bed beside me, crossing his legs at the ankles. “No. I took the day off.”
My heart lurches. “Because of me?”
“Foryou,” he corrects.
Is there a difference?
He lifts his shoulders easily. “I have more vacation days than I know what to do with. It’s not a big deal.”
The toast is dry and crumbly, the last thing I want, but I take a bite and manage to get half the slice down, which makes Caleb smile with more pride than seems warranted.
As I set the plate on the mattress beside me, I realize that despite the dry toast and the whole puking my guts up thing, I’m truly, genuinely happy.
For so long, I wasn’t sure it was possible—this feeling of contentedness, the belief that my life is going the way it should. I’m not saying my days are all rainbows and sunshine, but they’re pretty damn incredible.
CHAPTER 39
HALLE
IloatheChristmas shopping. It has absolutely nothing to do with my lack of budget and everything to do with how obnoxious people can be.
“What do you mean you don’t have this in a size nine?” the man in front of me complains. Again.
I just want to check out, and he’s having a meltdown trying to get shoes for his wife.
The poor girl at the register sighs. “You can order them online?—”
“But I need them now.I don’t have time for shipping and all that.” He waves a hand wildly, nearly taking me out in the process.
Thankfully, another cashier comes over and takes pity on me.
“I can check you out over here, ma’am.”
I set the boxes—sneakers for my brothers—on the counter with a grateful smile. When I asked them what they wanted for Christmas, they fought me. They’re old enough to understand that money is tight, and they don’t want to add to that burden. I could see it in their eyes. But they’re crazy if they think I’m not getting them Christmas gifts. After more than one argument, I proposed the idea of awant, need, wear, and readChristmas, and they were on board with that.
Though I separated them and had them each write out a list of a few items for each category so I’d have options, the items they chose were nearly identical except for the book section.
Both requested crochet supplies. It was the last thing I expected, but pretty adorable, even if I’ve yet to see any of the projects they’ve been working on.
When the cashier gives me the total, I try to hide the cringe that overtakes me. Even on sale, the shoes are pricey. I dig in my purse for my wallet, and as I pull my hand out again, a piece of paper slips out and flutters to the floor.
“Crap,” I mutter, bending over to pick it up.
With no recollection of what it is, I carefully open it.
Caleb’s writing is scrawled across the page, and dammit if my heart doesn’t beat a million times faster.
