“The kitchen switch is right next to you.”
He flicked it on, the brightness shooting straight through her skull. If she didn’t feel so sick, she’d probably worry about him seeing her like this. Her hair lank, her face pale, her lips so dry she could grow a cactus in them.
He put the bag down on the counter that divided the living room from the kitchen. She watched, bemused, as he began to take the items out one by one.
A rotisserie chicken, in a plastic container. Carrots, leeks, and onions, along with sachets of herbs and spices she couldn’t quite read the labels of.
“I didn’t want you to come all this way and be disappointed,” she said, her voice thick with exhaustion. “I don’t think I’m up for sex right now.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “That’s not why I’m here. I’m making you dinner.”
“You’re what?” She managed to turn on her side, even though every muscle in her body complained about the movement.
“I’m going to make you chicken soup.” A smile played at his lips. “It’s the only cure for when you have a fever like yours.”
“You’re cooking for me?” She blinked, not quite understanding thanks to the fog in her brain.
He shrugged. “It’s what I do. I worked in a kitchen to pay my way through college.” He leaned on the counter and caught her gaze. “I was pretty good at it, too. I figure you haven’t got anybody to cook for you, so I’ll do it.” He looked around the kitchen. “Where are your pans?”
“In the cupboard next to the stove.” She frowned. Was this normal behavior? Did hook ups usually cook for you when you were sick? She’d have to ask Lainey, she’d know. Every slice of human life passed through the salon after all. “Are you sure you want to cook after coming all this way?”
Nobody had ever cooked for her before. Even when she was as sick as a dog, Shaun would either buy takeout or go to his mom’s, leaving Courtney to sweat it out in bed. She had no idea what to make of it as Logan made himself at home in her kitchen, sweating vegetables in the huge soup pan, the savory aroma filling the downstairs of her cottage. At one point she must have drifted off, because she woke to him holding a glass of water to her lips.
“Drink,” he said softly. “You look dehydrated.”
“I keep forgetting.” She swallowed a mouthful of the cool liquid, and it tasted like nectar on her tongue. “I think I need to take more medicine, too. Can you pass the box?”
He grabbed the package from her coffee table and popped a pill through the foil. She shivered as he pressed it against her mouth. Okay, so she wasn’t that sick.
Though she had a feeling she’d have to be dying not to be affected by Logan Hartson’s touch.
“The soup will be ready in half an hour,” he told her. “Why don’t you take a shower? It’ll make you feel better.”
“I don’t think I can stand up.” She gave him a weak smile.
“I’ll get in with you.” He shrugged. “I’ll hold you up.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh no, I couldn’t.”
A half-smile curled his lips. “Why not?”
“Because we’d be…”
“Naked?” he offered. “It’s okay. I don’t know if you remember, but I’ve seen it all before. Real close and personal.” Was that a wink?
A shower sounded pretty good right now. She hadn’t had one since yesterday, but the thought of him being close to her funky body made her want to cry. “I don’t know.”
“I promise it’ll be all above board.” He held his hand up in a salute. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a Boy Scout,” she croaked.
“Sure was.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Got my Eagle Scout, too. I had the most spirit in our whole troop.”
She tried to picture him as a boy, in a khaki shirt covered with badges, along with a colorful scarf around his neck, and started to laugh. It turned into a choke, and the smile dissolved from his face, as he crouched in front of her.
“You okay?”
She nodded. “Just don’t say anything funny. Or at least give me some warning first.”