“Little bird,” Noah whispers beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. My gaze seeks Jonas, who walks ahead of us, not paying attention to the fact a man has his arm around me.
“I’m not little,” I mutter. Why is it suddenly so cold?
“No, you’re one tough chickadee,” Noah mocks.
“I’m a bluebird,” I state.
Noah chuckles. “Meaning?”
“The bluebird is a symbol of dawn or a new day. In some traditions, the bird is considered friendly and associated with the sun. Others believed that bluebirds brings spring and fights off winter. In general, a bluebird means hope, love, and renewal.”
“Weighty pressure on such a tiny thing.” Noah tightens his hold on me.
“When my great-grandparents bought this land, my great-grandmother found a bluebird nest. She took it as a sign that this place would be a new beginning for them. Bluebirds can mean prosperity, and my greats believed the nest meant a future of wealth. Not richness, but a life rich in happiness. Sounds quirky, doesn’t it?” My face burns while sweat dampens my underarms. I shiver again inside my jacket.
“Sounds…nice.” He’s mocking me. I hear it in his voice, but I don’t have the energy to argue with him. We’ve had a nice day, but suddenly, I’m exhausted. I just want a warm bath and ten blankets over me.
+ +
I wake to Noah sitting on the edge of my couch. After returning to my place, I took a bath, popping a movie in for Jonas. Then I crawled under a few blankets on the couch and fell asleep.
“Hey,” I croak.
“Hey.” He sweeps a hand over my hair, and I roll my head on the pillow.
“Where’s Jonas?” The room is dark. The television off.
“He’s in bed.”
Slowly, I try to sit up, but my head and throat are killing me. “What time is it?”
“It’s ten o’clock.”
“Oh, my God.” I never gave Jonas dinner or helped him take a bath. Cupping my forehead, my mind races. How the hell is Noah here?
“Jonas came to the front desk. He told me he thought you were sick.”
“Jesus, he knows he shouldn’t just wander without telling me where he’s going.” How had I slept through Jonas stepping out? The thought disturbs me, and I swallow around the dryness in my throat.
“Here.” Noah reaches for a glass of water on the low table before the couch, and I take it from him. As I gulp the cool liquid, my stomach sloshes. I haven’t eaten since the macaroni and cheese.
“I should check on Jonas.” I set the glass on the table and toss back the covers.
Noah stills me, catching the blankets and tugging them back over my lap. “You have a fever and need to rest.”
“Are you suddenly a doctor?” I chide.
“I am. Dr. Noah wants you to be a good patient and stay in bed.” His face pinches.
I saw the censure earlier when he entered my apartment. We live at the inn, which is strike one. Our place is small, which is strike two. Uncle Joe offered me the space after Isaiah left. I sold the townhome we lived in because I needed every penny to purchase the inn. And I’m still going to fall short.
“Don’t judge me.” My throat is raw but my tone fierce. “I’m doing the best I can.”
Noah’s brows lift. “Never. I would never judge you.” He glances around my place, taking everything in like he did earlier.
“I know you don’t like the inn, and you’d never live here, but I have my reasons.”
“Because of Jonas’s father?” Noah’s eyes return to me.
“I try not to give him credit for anything.” Other than giving me Jonas.
The single bedroom belongs to Jonas, so he had a semblance of his life before his father left. This arrangement was good enough for my father and me for years before he bought one of the townhomes behind the inn. The same one I took over, allowing Isaiah to live with me, thinking we would be together forever.
Noah tucks my hair behind my ear. “We all do what we have to do sometimes.”
I want him to understand, but I’m certain he doesn’t.
“Why were you even here?” We both had the day off by some scheduling fluke.
“I was just checking on some things.”
Like finding a job in the Caribbean? I don’t bother asking. “Well, thanks for helping with Jonas. I should probably get some more sleep. I work tomorrow.”
“You’re not leaving this”—he glances at the couch, which is my bed—“Room. With your permission, I’ve asked Jonas to be my helper tomorrow.”
“Helper?” I snort.
“Let me deal with Jonas while you rest.”
“I don’t know.” I don’t really know if I can trust Noah.
“Look, I can give you references for my babysitting skills. Or I can set Jonas up with my brother and River. Jonas can meet my twin nephews and spend the day at their house if you’re more comfortable.”
His concern for my caution warms my insides a little, which happen to feel overheated, especially with the blankets on me. The fever must be breaking. I push at the covers once more.
“What are you doing, stubborn woman?” Noah groans, tugging the duvet back to my waist.
“I’m hot,” I mutter.
His eyes leap to my face. “Yes, you are.” The softness of his voice implies he means more than the heat of the breaking fever emanating from me, but I ignore the teasing compliment. I don’t have the energy to read into his flirting or think of his kisses.
His hand caresses the side of my face. The coolness of his palm feels nice against my warm skin.
“Let me take your worries,” he whispers, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to my temple. Tears prickle my eyes at the sweet gesture. And in my weakened state, I acquiesce.
+ +
The following morning, Noah collects Jonas, and I sleep the day away. When both boys enter my place around five, I’m a sweaty mess but hungry. Jonas approaches me, offering me a hug, and although I don’t want my boy to get sick, I absorb the comforting gesture.
“How was your day with Noah?”
“Awesome,” Jonas chirps, pulling back from our embrace. “We played checkers in the game room. I had a sandwich from the café. I folded towels and looked at my pictures from yesterday on the computer.”
“You folded towels, huh?” I tip a brow at Noah. Way to delegate his work.
He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck.
“Sounds like a great day, buddy.” I ruffle Jonas’s hair, remembering he didn’t have a bath last night, so he needs one tonight. “School tomorrow. We need to get you some dinner and a bath.”
“Aw, man. I don’t need a bath.” He lifts his arm and smells his pit. “I don’t stink.”
Noah chuckles, quietly watching us.
I lean into Jonas, inhaling near his neck. “You smell.”