to the guest bedroom. The mission of winning my wife back is sinking terribly. I need to step up my game. If it was a start-up seeking investors, I’d pass on it without second thought. Not a chance that’ll earn any money, for me or them.
But Natalie’s nothing like work. She’s more precious than any company I invest in, and I have no idea how I can win her back.
Natalie
A retching noise wakes me. I sit straight up, like a mummy coming to life, and blink.
A light flips on across the house, the glow invading my room.
Now I hear coughing.
“Shit.” I vault out of bed and rush to the girls’ bedroom, glad I wore longer pajama shorts than the boy shorts I usually wear. My shirt is baggy, but I put on an old and worn sports bra that I can sleep comfortably in.
Abby’s curled in the corner of her bottom bunk, moaning. Simon’s halfway up the ladder, holding the silver basin for Maddy.
He looks at me, his face ashen. The smell is atrocious, but nothing we haven’t tackled before. We fall back into our the kids are sick roles. He lifts Maddy down and carries her to the bathroom. I strip her and wash her down while he gathers all of her bedding.
He appears at the bathroom door with fresh pajamas and helps me dress her. The pile of dirty laundry grows. When Maddy’s in fresh clothes, Simon picks her up. She snuggles against his shoulder. The way he cradles her like he did with Abby yesterday, makes me pause. Seeing how excellent he is with them has always been a weak spot for me.
I grab new sheets and make Maddy’s bed, finding an extra blanket. He tucks her in while I find another bucket.
“I hope that’s the end,” he whispers as he steps off the bunk ladder.
Then Abby moans and rolls over, searching for the silver basin. I dive for her and make it just in time. While I sit with her, Simon goes to the bathroom to get a washcloth.
Once we get Abby cleaned and settled, and wash her bucket, Simon gathers up the laundry. It’s spilling over his arms and he’s going to need a shower. I’ll have to clean myself and wash up too.
“I got this,” he says. “Go get some rest. We don’t know when it’ll hit again.”
I puff hair out of my eyes. “Do you need something else to wear?” Unless he left clothes here, I don’t have much to offer. My baggiest clothes would be skintight on his tall, wide-shouldered frame.
“I’ll dry the underclothes I wore under my suit while I shower. Don’t worry.” His smile is reassuring. “Rest. We might need it.”
I wash up and change pajamas. Simon’s quiet, but my senses are attuned to him moving through the house. I hear the other shower kick on and off. He goes back downstairs, comes up, and then the door to his room closes.
I’m not tired. I don’t know how long I stare at the ceiling recalling how good of a partner he is at times like this. Finally, my eyes drift shut. I don’t know how much sleep I get before there’s a repeat.
This time, it’s just Maddy and she’s good about getting to the bucket. There’s nothing sexy about this detail, but Simon’s tight undershirt and boxer briefs are hard not to notice. His powerful thighs are usually hidden by his basketball shorts—poorly, but it’s something. His gym shirts are baggy, but this undershirt practically takes a highlighter to his defined pecs and the hard planes of his stomach.
When everything’s cleaned up and Maddy’s settled, we step out of the room. He rolls his shirt up and rips it over his head. He’s in nothing but his underwear and his hair is rumpled. This is the Simon I wanted more of when we were married. Casual. More than casual.
I can’t keep my gaze from dipping to his chest. Damn. He’s in maroon boxer briefs with a black waistband. I’m wearing powder blue pajama pants with pandas on them and a top that falls off one shoulder. He’s granite and I’m a dandelion field gone to seed.
I bite the inside of my lip to keep from swearing. I used to climb every inch of him. Tasting, licking, nibbling. He was mine. Cleaning up sick should’ve kept my mind off of this.
“I don’t think I got hit, but I want to keep my bedding clean. It’s probably time to put another load