When the knock came on my door, I groaned.Now, who could that wretched person be?I pulled my housecoat on and trudged over to the front door, swinging it wide open. I was now facing Chris. “What are you doing here? I’m sick. Go away.”
I turned and hurried over to the tissue box, but it was a little too late. “Achoo!”
“Sounds like you need some medicine. You’re in luck. I’ve brought you some cough syrup. This is what my mom used on me whenever I’m like this, and it works wonders,” Chris said as he followed me into the kitchen to get me a spoon.
I made a face. “I don’t need medication. I’ve got my lemon and ginger tea, so I’m good.”
He set a bag down on the counter and started pulling products out of it. Bottle after bottle was set down on the table. “Cough medicine. Throat lozenges. Fever medicine. Some menthol cream for your chest and under your nose so you can breathe better. What am I missing?” He scratched his head.
“Chris, you don’t have to do this. I’m fine, really. I just need a day to watch movies and drink tea. I’m sure I’ll see you in the office tomorrow. Thank you,” I said, hoping he would leave.
“Don’t worry about anything at work. I’ve got you covered,” he said as he walked toward the door. “Call me if you need anything else, and I’ll pick it up on my way home.”
He left, and I had just got myself all settled on the sofa with my hot tea when another knock presented itself on my front door. “Jeez, why can’t everyone leave me alone?”
I was about to get up when the door opened. It was Chris again. He walked right to the kitchen and started to open my cupboards. I heard pots clanking around and him starting the gas burner.
“What are you doing in my kitchen?” I coughed a few times, and my head felt like it would explode.
“I brought over some homemade chicken soup. You’re lucky I had roast chicken last night and decided to make some soup. I must have known you were going to be sick today. It’s got onions, carrots, rice, and spinach. You’ll love it. It’s my mother’s recipe,” he said.
Within minutes he brought over a steaming bowl of it and set it in front of me. “Is there anything else before I go?”
“Chris, seriously. Stop fussing over me and get to work. Don’t forget to file the papers for the appeal on Mrs. Denver’s case. It’s due by two,” I reminded him.
“Got it. It’s on my calendar. See you after work.” He leaned over and felt my forehead. “Do you have a thermometer to take your temperature?”
“No.”
“I’ll get you one on my way home. I want to make sure you don't have a fever.” He was out the door before I could protest.
I laid back and pressed play on my movie, and eyed the soup. I wished I could smell it, but my nose was so clogged. It called to me, and I gave in, sitting back up. My tongue was so coated that I couldn’t really taste it that well, but the steam cleared my sinuses, and my throat felt much better. I took some of the medication and curled up on the sofa, wrapping myself with blankets. I was out in no time.
When I woke up several hours later, I heard a lawn mower going outside. It sounded close, so I dragged myself off the couch to look out the window. ItwasChris, but he was cuttingmylawn. I almost went to the front door and yelled at him but thought twice about it. I knew my lawn was overgrown, and I wasn’t about to do it in my state. I sat down and watched some more of my movie and heard the lawn mower shut off. When he didn’t come in right away, I looked outside again. He was watering all my flowers. He looked kind of hot in his jogging shorts and tank top, hair a mess from the sweat.Is it possible to feel turned on when you were sick?
Stop it, Marilyn. You simply can’t get the hots for your colleague. Especially your personal assistant. It’s just wrong.
He disappeared, so I sat back down and unpaused my movie for the hundredth time. He came back over about half an hour later, carrying a plastic container. Again, he went straight to the kitchen. “I know you had this for lunch, but you’re having it again for dinner. I can’t imagine you feel much like eating, and I’ll bet you can’t taste much anyway.”
He set another bowl down in front of me then sat beside me. “What are we watching?”
“We?” I raised my eyebrow.
“Yes, we. Turn it on. I don’t like to chat while I’m trying to eat,” Chris said, not looking at me.
I wouldn’t want to see me either. I hadn’t looked at myself recently, and I’m sure it wasn’t pretty.
After the movie, Chris washed the dishes, then gave me more medication.
“I could get used to this, you know,” I told him.
“Good. You should,” he said.
“I just meant while I’m sick,” I clarified. Although it would be nice to have someone care for me more often, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.
“I know. You aren’t going to work tomorrow,” Chris said.
“I am too,” I argued.