Bonus Kisses - Freya Barker Page 0,10

other I’ve ever had, bar none.

“Sounds like a plan,” I tell her, approaching the bed. “I’ll put some water on for tea as soon as I help you get dressed.”

“Let me rest a little longer. I wouldn’t mind that tea, though.” But before I can move, she reaches for my hand and grabs on tight. “Thank you for being here. It means everything.”

“Don’t.” I shake my head. “There isn’t a place on the face of the earth I’d rather be.” I bend over her bed and press a kiss to her forehead. “Bonus kiss,” I tell her. “Making up for all the ones we’ve missed.”

I put the kettle on in the kitchen, struggling to keep my emotions in check. I thought I knew what it was like to have your emotions worn raw, but nothing compares to this. When I have two mugs ready with teabags I feel a little more in control, something I desperately need for my upcoming conversation with Mom. I grab the phone and dial.

“Everything okay?” My mother sounds almost breathless as she answers the phone.

“She’s okay,” I quickly reassure her.

“Oh. Natasha.” Her voice is immediately flat when she hears it’s me and I roll my eyes to the ceiling. God, give me strength.

“Yeah, it’s me, Mom. Listen, I’m not sure what you had planned for tonight’s dinner, but do you think you could make your mac and cheese?”

It’s silent on the other side for a moment when I hear her derisive snort. “I’m making a rib roast. Nicky needs the iron to keep her strength up and it’s Rafe’s favorite. I’m not about to change my plans because you suddenly have a hankering for my cooking.”

Yikes. Shot to the heart. She can’t seem to help herself. This time it’s me who needs a minute to rein in the need to lash back. This is not the time.

“It’s not for me, Mom,” I say deceptively calmly. “It’s for Nicky. She says she’s saving her appetite, hoping for your mac and cheese.”

“She needs to eat—”

“Mom…”

“—Or she’ll get too weak. You’re a nurse, you know her body needs fuel.”

“Mom,” I repeat, shaking my head. “She’s tired. I’m not going to force her to do anything she doesn’t feel up to, including eating something she doesn’t want, and she doesn’t want to eat anything but your mac and cheese casserole.”

Another silence before she finally responds. “Fine. I’ll bring mac and cheese.”

The next thing I hear is dead air. She’s hung up.

Christ.

Rafe

“Grapes can be very dangerous for Charlton, Mrs. Myers. Remember last time you fed him fruit salad and he was throwing up?”

I try to be gentle with the senior citizen, who brought in her overweight beagle because he was puking. Again.

“But aren’t vegetables and fruits supposed to be healthy for you? You told me he had to lose weight.”

“Yes, Mrs. Myers, but just because they’re healthy for people doesn’t make them healthy for dogs. Haven’t you been feeding him the low calorie food I gave you a sample of last time you were here?”

She has two bright red spots on her cheeks as she mumbles something under her breath I don’t quite catch.

“Sorry?”

“I said, that special food is three times as expensive as the regular stuff. How am I supposed to afford that on my tiny pension?”

I drop my head. We do this song and dance every time she comes in with the dog. Mrs. Myers is not suffering. Her husband, a local dentist who died five years ago, left her very well taken care of, but I don’t have the heart to call her on it. I’m sure the woman is lonely, and I can’t deny she loves her dog; I wish she’d look after him better.

“Lisa?” I call out and my assistant sticks her head in the door.

“Yes?”

“Can you give Mrs. Myers a large bag of the low cal Health Diet, please?”

“A large bag?” Lisa’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline.

“Correct.”

I catch my assistant’s eye roll before she disappears into the back.

It takes another fifteen minutes before Mrs. Myers—my last appointment of the afternoon—drives off with a sixteen-pound bag of Health Diet in the trunk of her Honda Civic, and her beagle, Charlton, hanging out the passenger side window, his tongue lolling from his mouth.

“You do realize you’re technically paying that woman for bringing her dog in at this rate, right?” Lisa comments from behind me.

“Hmmm,” I mumble, neither confirming nor denying. My mind is already on what’s waiting for me at home.

I slip by her and duck