Page 84 of Just My Fake Husband

I’m not about to miss work because of a wasp attack. With the baths, calamine, allergy syrup, and ice packs, I’m less lumpy. But I still hurt today, so I have to get up from my desk off and on throughout the day, to relieve pressure from the sting sites. Especially in the places I wasn’t about to ask Gabriel to put calamine on.

I got stung right above my backside, probably due to the loose shorts and too-short t-shirt I threw on yesterday before my walk. And now I can’t reach the sting very well, since I have one on my pointer finger. But thoughts of him helping me do that were . . . too much. Because even in my sorry state, even though I looked a little like a pink Oompa Loompa, I would have enjoyed him applying the lotion too much.

If I’m honest, I did enjoy it too much. The look in those blue eyes of his told me he liked it, too—that he felt empathy that I had wasp venom coursing through my body. He liked helping me, I could tell.

I have that expression on his face memorized. The mix of stress and concern as he gently lotioned my wounds up. The way his fingers painstakingly removed the stingers and dabbed the cotton ball against my skin, and how he held his breath when the cold liquid made me startle.

I liked being taken care of.

And in case you’re wondering, we slept in the same bed last night again. There wasn’t a discussion about it—it just sort of happened. And I was so chock full of poison that it wasn’t romantic.

Scratch that. Of course it was, but not in the way it was two nights ago. Last night was sort of homey and normal. Like we’ve been married for a while—in a good way.

I’ve just walked into a brand management meeting at Tate when my phone rings. It’s Caring Souls. I turn right back around and head back down the corridor. They never call. They never have to because they hear from me plenty.

“Skye is fine,” the case manager insists. “However, she is having a hard time, emotionally, right now and you asked us to let you know—”

“What happened?” I swear my heart completely stops.

“We’re not sure. She’s saying something about a lunch lady?”

How does the case manager not know that’s her dog’s name? I breathe in and out, telling myself to give her some grace.

“Her dog’s name is Lunch Lady Liz,” I say. “Is she crying because she misses her?”

“Oh! That’s probably it.”

“Okay, I’ll come as soon as I can.”

I almost call Gabriel to ask him to drop whatever he’s doing and take the dog and me to Caring Souls.See, world? See? I told you it was a bad idea to let her move there!

But then I remember all that Jana has said about how normal it is for the residents to have bad days sometimes. And I remember Gabriel saying I’m a good sister and that things are going to work out.

I text the person running the meeting to tell them I’ll be there in a minute, and I call Gabriel, but not to ask him to pick me up.

“Hey,” I say when he answers, my heart rate flitting like a tinkling little brook at his “Hello.” “How’s work going?” I ask. I’ve made it back to my office and hearing his voice affects me so much, I have to sit down.

Gabriel told me yesterday more info about the non-profit idea that he and Milo are working on. And it made me tear up. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. But when your husband tells you he’s starting a non-profit that provides scholarships to adults with disabilities for independent living, of course you’re going to cry!

“Writing up grant proposals is no joke,” he says. “But we’ve found our rhythm. How are you?”

“I’ve been writing press releases about your new non-profit. I know it will be a while until it’s up and running, but I thought I’d get a head start.”

“Well, look at you,” he says. “Thank you.”

He means it. And now I’m leaning towards him through the phone, like I’m a dog nudging his hand for a nice scrub around the ears.

“I—” I hesitate, but then let out a sharp breath. “I’d love to help with the new organization, in brand management or any way you might need. It’s exciting and I want to be a part of it.”

“River, I would love partnering with you on this.”

Oh, wow. Already I’m imagining what it would be like to work with him on this project.

I already know, and it would be rewarding, and because he’d be there, I could see it being fun, too.

“Also, Skye’s homesick for Lunch Lady Liz,” I tell him. “I almost called you to see if you could take me to her right now. But—well, I have a meeting and she’s fine, you know? She’ll be okay. I think they probably have it handled.”

“That’s probably a good thing you’re not rushing over there. Except, maybe she’s stressed about having Antonio in the building. I wouldn’t blame her.”

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