throat hurts."
"Do you want some more juice?" I touch the back of my hand to her forehead. "You're pretty warm, sweetheart."
"Orange juice, please," she requests, her gaze going behind me to the television, attention completely focused on the cartoon she's watching.
I grab a Tylenol and her orange juice and she takes them wordlessly, her head craning to see the TV around me. She's snuggled up with her favorite bear and her books, but has mostly been watching cartoons and sniffling on the sofa. The pediatrician said it was nothing to worry about, probably the flu, and that it should pass in a few days. He prescribed fluids and rest. Of course, like most seven-year-olds, Chloe isn't so great about resting. She's already going stir-crazy.
In the kitchen, I'm working on a birthday cake for a customer – a small one, fortunately, otherwise I'd never be able to fit it in my refrigerator. But I can’t afford to fall behind. It’s times like this that I realize I really have to find someone else to help out at the store. I can’t just rely on Opal to help take care of things when Chloe gets sick or if there’s an emergency.
Opal reassured me that the store was just fine without me today. Tomorrow, Bethany, my babysitter, will come hang out with Chloe while I go to work. Everything is taken care of. Except I have the nagging feeling that I forgot something.
My phone vibrates and I look down at the text message from Killian.
Should I pick you up at eight o'clock?
Oh shit. The date.
I swipe the screen on my phone and text Killian back.
Chloe's sick. Flu. I'll have to take a rain check.
My phone buzzes again.
Need anything?
I pause before I respond.
Thanks, but we're good.
The phone goes silent after that. He probably thinks I’m blowing him off and using Chloe as an excuse. I second-guess the text message about a hundred times as I busy myself with work, taking advantage of the fact that Chloe is quiet and settled. I should text him back, I tell myself something less abrupt, apologize for not being able to make the date.
I pipe flowers onto the cake in various shades of pink and purple before dusting the entire surface with edible glitter.
Chloe calls me from the living room. "Mo-om!"
"Hang on a second." I slide the cake into the refrigerator before heading for the living room.
"This is over. I don't want to watch TV anymore. I'm bored," she complains before putting her head on the arm of the sofa.
"Why don't I read you a book?"
"Can you get the princess and the dragon one?"
"Do you know where it is?"
"No," she whines. "In my room somewhere. Will you find it? I'm tired."
"I'll go find it."
"Can we paint our nails? And do makeup?"
"I thought you were too tired to look for the book yourself. I take it you're feeling better than you were earlier?"
"I'm bo-red."
My gaze lands on the princess book shoved sideways between a couple of other books in the living room bookcase. "Is that the princess book you were talking about?"
"Yes!" Chloe leans forward and grabs it from my hands before I even reach the sofa. "Will you read it to me?"
"Let me get my water, and I'll come back and read." Chloe is reading on her own now, but the princess and the dragon is one we read together. I want to keep that as long as possible.
The doorbell rings, and Chloe perks up. "Who's that?"
"Probably a salesperson or something," I say, holding my hand up when she sits up. "Don't come to the door with me. You're sick."
"But I'm bored, too."
I give her a glare. "You're supposed to rest. I'll get it."
"Mo-om."
"Don't mom me," I call as I walk down the hallway. I pull the door open to see Killian standing there, holding two paper bags. "What are you doing here?"
Oh, God. Killian is here and I look like. . . well, I look like I’m a mom hanging out with my sick kid.
My hand flies to my hair, pulled up into an unruly pile on top of my head. I glance down at my clothes, even though I already know I'm wearing my stay-at-home outfit – this faded pair of striped pajama shorts that barely cover my ass and a ratty white tank top with a hole in the side. And no bra. Or makeup.
Killian's eyes drift down the length of my body and up again, and he does absolutely nothing to even try to hide it. My cheeks warm under his gaze, and I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling naked in front of him, which is totally ridiculous given the fact that his mouth has been between my legs.
Killian holds up two paper bags. "I brought supplies."
"What kind of supplies?" I take one of the bags from his hand as he follows me into the kitchen. Setting the bag on the counter, I pull out a bottle of whiskey, a glass jar of honey, and a lemon.
"My grandma's recipe. Whiskey, honey, and lemon. Works for a cold or the flu – burns the germs right out of you."
"You understand that it's my seven-year-old child who's sick, right?"
Killian stares at me blankly. "Yeah. Whiskey helps them sleep." I gape at him for a second, mostly because I can't believe he really doesn't know the bare basics about kids. Then he chuckles. "I'm kidding, shit. There's chicken soup in this bag. The whiskey is for you. I do know enough not to feed whiskey to a seven-year-old." He pauses for a beat. "You have to wait until they're twelve, right?"
I slap him on the arm.
"Who is it, mom?" Chloe yells from the sofa.
"My friend from the bakery," I call. "He brought soup."
"Friend, huh?" Killian asks, standing beside me, far too close to be friendly.
I clear my throat, trying to shake off the goose bumps that dot my arms just because I'm standing so close to him. "Friend," I repeat.
What the hell else would we be? My mind immediately goes to Opal and her terms for her relationship with Bert: booty call, fuck buddy.
Killian and I haven't had sex yet, so there's no fuck buddying involved. So we're friends. Just friends.
He moves so he's right behind me and whispers in my ear. "Totally platonic."
I swallow hard as heat surges through my body. "Platonic."
"Platonic friends who are going out on a date."
"Who were going out on a date," I correct. “We haven’t gone out on a date yet. And does going out on a date mean we’re not friends anymore?”
He touches his fingertips to my arms, and I shiver as he traces them lightly across my skin. "Maybe I don't want to be your friend."
"Hey! Guess what we're doing in math?" I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of Chloe's voice.
In a flash, Killian turns and moves an appropriate distance away from me. "What? Tell me."
"Subtraction. I'm really good at it."
"No doubt," Killian says. "You're a smart cookie."
"I know," Chloe replies. "I'm sick."
"So I heard. You like chicken soup?"
"Does it have noodles? I don’t like it without noodles.”
“What else would it have in it?”
“Rice.”
“This has noodles.”
“Does it have carrots?”
Killian shrugs. “It has whatever CJ’s Restaurant down in town puts in their soup.”
“Okay. Can I eat it on the sofa, mom?"
"If you promise not to get it everywhere. I'll put it on a tray for you."
"Okay." She directs her attention to Killian again, her gaze falling first on him and then me. "Why are you here?"
"I was bringing you soup."
"Is that your job?"
"No, that's not his job, Chloe," I say. "He's doing it as a friend."
She crosses her arms over her chest and surveys us. "So he's your boyfriend?"
Killian coughs.
"No, he's not my boyfriend. He's a friend who happens to be a boy."
"Yeah. A boyfriend."
"But not a boyfriend."
"Rowdy is
my boyfriend."
"He's your friend. . . who's a boy."
"No, he's my boyfriend. We held hands during recess last week."
"You did what?" Did my heart just stop beating? My just-turned-seven-year-old is holding hands with a boy during recess?
"Is his name actually Rowdy?" Killian asks.
"Yeah. His brother’s name is Tuff. They’re twins. They’re both in my class. Mrs. S had to tell their mother that they can’t wear the same thing to school because she can’t tell them apart.”
Killian glances at me. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me. Tuff and Rowdy?”
“Language,” I warn.
“You’re not supposed to say that word,” Chloe lectures.
“You’re right. I should probably pay you a dollar every time I curse.”
Chloe’s eyes grow large. “No way. For real?”
Killian shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”
I shake my head. “You’re going to lose your shirt to her.”
“Gross. I don’t want his shirt,” Chloe protests. “Can I watch Scary High?”
“Is this a TV show?” Killian asks.
I roll my eyes. “Don't even try. You know what shows you're allowed to watch."
"Bo-ring," Chloe sighs. "Hannah watches it."
"Well, I'm not Hannah's mom." Killian's eyes meet mine and I swear he's trying to hide a smile. "I guess you must be feeling better if you're so bored. And if the shows you're watching are so boring, maybe you don't need to watch TV at all."
Chloe wrinkles her nose. "Are you going to read the princess and the dragon book?"
"Yes. Give me a minute to get your soup and I'll be in there."
Chloe directs her attention to Killian. "You could read it."
"A princess book?" Killian asks.
"She's not a lame princess," Chloe says. "She has ninja-fighting skills. It has dragons, too."
"I think Mr. Saint has to –"
Killian interrupts. "The dragon breathes fire, right?"
"Of course," Chloe says.
"I'm in."
"Yes!" Chloe cheers. "You can be the dragon. I know everything the princess says in the book already."
"You don't have to –" I start, but Killian is already following Chloe. He looks over his shoulder and winks.
"Oh. Is this a dramatic reading?" Killian asks.
"I don't know what dramatic means."
"You're doing the princess parts?"
"Yeah, like a performance. Let me get my sword. And my tiara."
"Oh good. Costumes," Killian says, a tinge of sarcasm evident in his voice. I stifle a laugh.
When I get to the living room with the soup, Chloe is perched on the edge of the sofa wearing her tiara while Killian sits across from her in an armchair sporting a silver cape.
"Silver is clearly your color," I note, setting the tray with Chloe's soup on the coffee table.
"Hey now. Dragons can wear silver capes."
"We're playing, mom," Chloe says, matter-of-fact. "He has a silver cape because he's a magic dragon."
Killian looks at me, his expression impassive. "Obviously."
"And because he's a girl dragon."
"Now I'm a girl dragon?"
"You need a wand," Chloe says. "Mommy, you can be the queen. But she's under a terrible spell, so you have to lay down and pretend to be asleep."
"Why am I a sleeping queen? That's not even in the book," I protest, crossing my arms, acutely aware of the fact that I'm standing here in a tank top and no bra.
Killian looks at me. "At least my character is alive," he says. "Chilly in here, isn't it?"
I look down at my shirt. "Shut up."
"I can handle the dragon thing if you want to change."
"Yeah, mom. Your shirt has a hole in the side, you know."
I look back and forth between the two of them warily. Killian shrugs. "Or not. I'm a fan of what you're wearing right now."
"I'll be ten minutes," I say, clearing my throat to distract from the flush of embarassment I know is evident on my cheeks. "I'll be right upstairs."
"I think she'll be alright for ten minutes," Killian says. "She's allowed to play with matches, right? And use a hatchet?"
I narrow my eyes. "You better be kidding."
"Am I?" Killian taunts.
"I'm not allowed to get near fire," Chloe says. "That can burn you."
"Bummer. When I was your age, I played with explosives."
"Killian!"
He looks at Chloe. "Don't play with explosives."
"What are explosives?"
"Nothing you need to know about," I interrupt. "Ten minutes. Don't let her talk you into ice cream. And no matches. Or sharp objects. Please don't burn down my house."
"Killjoy," Killian mutters teasingly.
"I have a sore throat," Chloe protests. "I should have ice cream."
"Uh-huh. Eat your soup before it gets cold."
Upstairs, I scramble to pull on clothing a cotton skirt and an unwrinkled t-shirt. I even manage to find a set of matching bra and panties. I brush my hair quickly into a ponytail, then decide against it, surveying in the mirror the messy waves that tumble down to my shoulders. Butterflies flit through my stomach, my body a bundle of nerves since Killian showed up at my house.
Killian is in my house. Interacting with my kid.
I'm not supposed to let guys I date meet my kid. This is definitely not how it's supposed to go. I swore that if I ever