“Jude,” I groaned, fighting a smile, “go to sleep.”
He ignored my words.
“This isn’t how I pictured your room,” he stated.
I opened my eyes, taking in the pink walls and girly décor. I hadn’t redecorated it since I was fourteen.
“What did you picture then?”
“Hmm,” he thought, “a torture chamber with chains and whips.”
I slapped a hand over my mouth to stifle my laugh. “A torture chamber? Really, Jude?” I rolled over to face him, cradling my hands under my head.
He shrugged. “You did kick me in the balls once and you slapped me when we kissed. Then there was the time—” I cut off anything further that he might say by putting my hand over his mouth. He retaliated by licking my hand.
“Ew,” I wiped my hand on the sheets, “you’re like a dog.”
“Doggie style is one of my favorite positions,” he stated flatly.
I rolled my eyes. “Go to sleep. I’m tired and now you’re keeping me awake.”
He chuckled. “Aw, don’t get sassy on me now, Tater Tot. You know you love my wickedly inappropriate sense of humor. It keeps life interesting,” he winked.
He was right about that.
I snuggled against him instead of replying. He smoothed his fingers through my hair and hummed a song under his breath. It sounded faintly like a lullaby. In no time I was asleep.
???
When I woke up I was more rested than I had been in days.
Jude was gone and in his place was a note.
Heard your dad come in last night. I wish I could’ve seen your beautiful face when you woke up.
-Jude
P.S. Look on the nightstand
Immediately I rolled over and started grinning like a fool. Sitting in a vase was not a single Twizzler like last time. Instead it was a whole ‘bouquet’ of them, and they were even tied together to look like flowers. Only Jude.
The gesture warmed my heart and I knew nothing would dampen my good mood today.
Chapter Twenty One
The week passed quicker than I would’ve liked and I started crying when we drove away from the nursing home.
Jude squirmed in his seat. “Uh…Tate…are you okay?”
The poor guy didn’t know what to do with my sudden emotional outburst. I couldn’t blame him. Even I hadn’t anticipated this reaction.
“I’m sorry,” I sniffled. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.” I wiped at my damp face, trying to get rid of the tears.
He reached for my hand, giving it a light squeeze.
“I’m just going to miss everyone so m-much,” I sobbed. “Especially Mr. Jenkins.”
“Aw, Tate,” he squeezed my hand again, a little harder this time, “you don’t need to be upset about it. You can always come visit. They allow volunteers to come in and spend time with the patients.”