Happy Friday everyone! I hope you like Alan and Jon, because you’ll get to meet them again today. This is part six, and it contains chicken soup and more medicines than you can possibly need. And here’s a virtual kiss to my friend Kris for coming up with that particular idea 😘😘
(Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 of Alan and Jon’s story if you need to get up to speed.)
Was it possible to become addicted to someone after only a couple weeks?
I hadn’t seen Jon in forever—three days counted as forever, it did—and I suffered from severe snuggle withdrawals. He’d been away on a business trip and was expected home tonight. As soon as I was released from my prison, eh work, I was storming over there. I needed warm, strong Jon-hugs right this second. Preferably yesterday, dammit.
As six o’clock drew close, I got more and more restless. The contents of my screen blurred together, my gaze wandered, and I glanced at the time once every minute.
When my phone buzzed with a message, I did my special butt wiggle dance on my chair. I grabbed my phone and pulled up the text.
Home with a cold and fever. Gotta cancel. Miss u. xoxo
My smile turned into a frown and my fingers flew over my screen as I typed out a reply.
Oh no! I’m so sorry. Do you need anything?
Thank u, but I’m fine. Don’t want u 2 catch anything.
I wanted to object and to rush over there and smother him in care, but I didn’t want to scare him off. I needed to respect his wishes.
Deep, deep sigh.
After texting him a ‘get well soon’ message, I collected my things and left the office. Now that I didn’t have a warm embrace to hurry home to, I took a detour to the grocery store. Uninspired, I picked up the things I needed. Cereal. Fruit. Milk. Boring boring boring.
As I passed by the chicken, I was struck by an idea that erased the grumpiness from my face. I hustled through the aisles, threw the additional stuff I needed in my cart, made a detour to the drugstore, and rushed home to execute my plan.
A couple hours later, I sent a text to Jon.
I know you said not to come over, but I have something for you. Can I leave it on your porch?
I stood by my kitchen window, bouncing on my feet as if someone had attached a spring to them, and stared at his house, waiting for him to reply to my message. Maybe, I should just sneak over there and leave it outside his door and go back home. No, that would be a stupid idea if he was asleep and the neighborhood cat found it.
Oh shit. That was it. He was probably already asleep. Unless I woke him up with my text. Should I text him and apologize for disturbing him? Should I—
I picked up my phone at warp speed and opened his reply.
Don’t b silly. Come over.
After shoving down the phone in my back pocket, I slung the stuffed tote bag over my shoulder, grabbed the huge pot, and made my way out. I kicked the door shut behind me, and when I was halfway across the street, Jon stepped out on the porch.
He was wrapped in a soft-looking knitted blanket, his eyes that usually sparkled with life were dull and glossy, and his cheeks were flushed.
“You should be in bed,” I called out to him with a scowl on my face. I increased my speed and soon I reached his side. “Get inside right this instant!”
“Someone wanted to give me something,” he said with a fond smile.
“I know. Someone—” I spit out the word in air-quotes, “clearly didn’t know what they were talking about. Get in.” I flicked my head to the open door.
I followed him inside, kicked off my shoes, and carried my things into the kitchen. He trailed after me.
“What is all this?” he asked.
After I’d put down everything, I turned to him. I touched my wrist against his forehead. He was warm. I frowned.
Jon chuckled. “What’s the prognosis, doctor Parsons? Will I live?”
“Shut up,” I muttered under my breath and started unpacking the contents of my bag. A huge box of tissues with lotion. NyQuil. Tylenol Cold for multiple symptoms. Tylenol cold+flu. Sudafed.
He was laughing at me now. “Did you buy the entire drug store?”
“No. I didn’t buy the hemorrhoid cream.”
A strangled sound behind me made me swirl around. He had covered his mouth with his palm, presumably to keep his merry laughter trapped inside. His eyes crinkled and his gaze was warm.
That look in his eyes…Wow. I shivered.
I reached out and removed his hand. Then I gently cupped his face and swept my thumbs across his cheekbones. “I made you chicken soup.”
His mouth fell open. “You made me chicken soup?”
“From scratch.” I nodded and brushed his sweaty hair away from his face. “It was my nana’s recipe. She used to make it when I was sick. It always made me feel better.”
My breath stuttered. I looked him right in the eye. “You called me honey.”
I flung my arms around his neck and pulled him in for a hug.
“Don’t. You’ll get sick, too.”
“I don’t care. You called me honey.”
He wrapped his arms around my waist—finally, hallelujah!—and pulled me close.
“Thank you, honey.” He emphasized the endearment. “No one has ever made me soup when I was sick before.”
“Want some?” I should let go of him. I should fix him a bowl, make sure he took some medicine, and go back home so he could sleep.
“I’d love to.”
I buried my nose in the crook of his neck and inhaled before I reluctantly let go and stepped away. “I’ll get you some. Sit down.”
He grabbed my hand. “Will you stay and have soup with me? I really did miss you.”
My heart swelled in my chest and I had to swallow. “I’d love to. I missed you, too.”
Happy weekend everyone.