Page 26 of Fragile Heart

“What’s her deal?” Hudson asks as we walk out the door and toward my car.

“She’s mad because my nosy neighbor mentioned that you came over before I got to. She thought I was keeping it a secret or something.”

He’s silent before asking, “Were you keeping it a secret?”

I look over to find him staring at me. “No. I wasn’t. I didn’t know if you wanted me to tell anyone. I imagine you like your privacy.”

He shrugs. “She’s your best friend.” I hear the meaning of his words. He’s ok with me talking to my best friend about him. “And we’re friends now, too, right?”

Relief runs through me, knowing that he thinks we’re friends. “Right,” I confirm.

We get in my car and drive back to my apartment. We decided on my place tonight since I have more food in my fridge and neither of us had time to go to the store, and we stayed up pretty late last night. He had to be at the studio early this morning, and I had a shift at the diner.

Before I left, though, he told me his driver would drop him off at the diner and he would ride to my place with me. I wanted to ask him why he had a driver instead of a rental car, but I decided against it. I’d like to think he would tell me if he wanted me to know.

I unlock my apartment door, throw my bag on the floor, and tell Hudson to make himself at home while I change.

After I slip on some leggings and an oversized T-shirt, I find Hudson on the couch with a glass of water, his feet propped up on the living room table. He took his shoes off to be comfortable, and he’s reclining on the couch pillows. It amazes me that he can look so good in casual sweatpants, but I look like a troll when I’m dressed down.

I clear my throat to announce my presence. “I’m going to make dinner really quick, then we can watch the movie.”

He turns his head to look at me. “Can I help?”

“You know how to cook?” I cock an eyebrow at him. He grabs a couch pillow and tosses it at me.

“No, smartass. But I know how to follow directions.”

I laugh and put the pillow back. “Alright, come on. You can cut the chicken because I hate doing that.” I pull the chicken out of the fridge and set him up at the cutting board while I fill a pot with water for pasta.

While I wait for the water to boil, I watch Hudson work. He’s cutting the chicken so carefully like he doesn’t want to mess up, and I don’t even try to hide my smile.

“I can feel you staring at me,” he says without looking up from his task.

I don’t bother denying it. “If you don’t cook, what do you eat when you’re home?”

“I have a chef that meal preps for me once a week, and when I run out of those meals, I order take out. It’s easier to find healthy takeout in LA than here.”

I bring my hand up to my heart. “Are you saying The Eatery on Main isn’t healthy?”

“Uh, I wouldn’t consider biscuits and gravy healthy, no.”

“We have a side salad on the menu. What more do you need?” He finally looks over at me, his eyebrows crinkled together like he thinks I’m serious. I bust out laughing, and he returns to his cutting.

I pour pasta into the water and give it a stir. Hudson tosses the chicken onto the pan I put on the stove for him. We finish making dinner side by side and take our chicken Alfredo to the couch so we can eat and watch the movie.

Halfway through the movie, I bring my feet up onto the couch and start rubbing them, trying to get the ache to stop. I overdid it yesterday with that hike. A few years ago, I would have been able to do that hike and go to work the next day with no problems, but now I feel like my feet are going to fall off.

Without taking his eyes off the TV screen, Hudson reaches out and pulls my feet into his lap. He absently starts rubbing them like this is something he often does. I stare in shock for a minute that this man is actually rubbing my feet. But when he doesn’t say anything, I let myself relax back into the couch. His hands feel so warm, and he’s applying just the right amount of pressure. It feels amazing.

At some point, I must doze off because the next thing I know, I’m being lifted off the couch. Hudson pulls me close to his body and carries me down the short hallway to my bedroom. It’s nice being in his strong arms, even for a minute or two.

He gently sets me down on the bed and pulls the covers over me. I feel his eyes on me, but I can’t will my own eyes to open. I’m so tired. He runs his fingers through a few strands of my hair before leaning over and kissing my head.

I must be dreaming.

There is no way Hudson would be kissing my head in real life.

I’ve been hanging around him too much, and now he’s infiltrated my dreams. That’s it.

But then I hear the TV shut off in the living room and my front door open and close.

I guess I’m not dreaming. He really carried me to bed and kissed my head, but I was too damn tired to open my eyes and see it happen.

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