Coming Back To You (23 page)

Without protest, she nodded and dragged
herself toward the hall. Mark retrieved the groceries from the car,
carried them into her kitchen, and dug out the bottle of Tylenol,
along with one of the half-gallons of orange juice he’d bought.
When he was sick, orange juice always made him feel better.

“Here you go.” He pushed open her bedroom
door and sat on the edge of the bed as she sat up. He placed the
pills in her palm and watched her wash them down. Then he took the
empty glass and set it on her desk as she lay back on her
pillow.

The desk hadn’t been here last summer. It had
been in the spare bedroom.

They’d shared a lot of special moments in
this room. He’d held her in his arms, kissed her hair, made love to
her. They’d talked about so many things here, some important, some
fanciful. In this bed, they’d laughed with one another, he’d kissed
away her tears, and he’d experienced the most incredible physical
connection he’d ever felt with a woman.

Memories he thought he’d forgotten surged to
life. How he’d lain with her in his arms and stared at the seascape
on the opposite wall, wishing they were there…on vacation…years
from now…celebrating their anniversary.

He brushed his fingers over her sweltering
forehead. “Get some sleep. I’ll check on you in a bit.”

Her eyes were already closed.

He quietly shut her bedroom door behind him
and peeked into the spare room where her desk used to be. There was
a treadmill in there now, along with a professional-grade spin
bike. She’d been busy while he’d been away.

On a bookcase beside one of the windows, he
found all the books he’d had her read stacked on one of the
shelves. He picked up the one she’d called the papaya book and
flipped through the pages.

The memories continued to rush through him.
Their first kiss. The first time he’d made love to her. Her
incredible innocence and the way she had grown into a confident,
sexual woman by the time their affair ended.

Being here again was both gratifying and
heartbreaking. He didn’t want to be alone, anymore, but he didn’t
want anyone but Karma to quell his loneliness. If only she would
see how bad Brad was for her and how good they could be
together.

Setting the book back on the shelf, he left
the room and returned to the kitchen.

Everywhere he looked, he was reminded of
their time together. She was sitting across from him at the
breakfast bar, eating the brownie he’d bought her the night she’d
opened up about her past. She was at the table, her face crimson as
he opened the case of four dildos he’d bought for her to prepare
herself for his girth. She stood in front him at the sink, filling
a vase with water for the flowers he’d brought her.

Karma’s breathtaking image was everywhere he
looked, even though she lay in bed, feverish, sick,
and—hopefully—asleep.

Which meant he needed to get busy making his
flu-busting homemade chicken soup.

Now, where was the soup pan?

* * *

Karma awoke and checked the time. Seven o’clock. Was
that seven in the morning or seven at night? She glanced out the
window. It looked like night.

Dragging herself out of bed, she made a pit
stop in her bathroom, splashed cool water on her face, blew her
nose, and brushed her teeth. She didn’t feel quite as bad as she
had earlier, but not by much. Instead of being run over by a train,
she felt like it had only been a large truck.

Every joint ached as she tucked her box of
Kleenex under her arm, padded in her socked feet to the bedroom
door, and stepped into the hall.

Mark looked up from his perch on the couch,
his laptop sitting—appropriately enough—in his lap, his shoeless
feet propped on the coffee table.

He sat up and set his laptop on the table.
“How do you feel?” He stood and met her halfway across the living
room.

“A little better.” But her voice still
sounded like death.

“You want some soup and crackers?”

She nodded. Soup sounded good. So did
crackers.

“Have a seat. I’ll fix you a bowl.”

She collapsed onto the couch and turned on
Wheel of Fortune
.

Mark returned with a large bowl of steaming
goodness and a plate of what looked like Chicken in a Biscuit
crackers. She loved those things.

“Here you go.” He handed her the soup and set
the plate on the arm of the couch.

She hugged the bowl of hot soup to her chest
and spooned up a bite. After blowing across the surface so it
didn’t scald her mouth, she slurped it up. Even though she couldn’t
taste anything, the broth and tender chunk of chicken felt
delicious.

He sat down beside her.

“Aren’t you going to eat any?” she said,
nibbling the corner off a cracker.

“I already ate a little while ago. Besides, I
made this for you.”

“Oh.” She sucked in another spoonful of
broth.

“Finding a road map,” he said.

“Huh?” She looked up to find him pointing at
the TV.

“The puzzle.”

She glanced at
Wheel of Fortune
, and
sure enough, even though some letters were missing,
Finding a
Road Map
was the solution.

“Good job.”

He shrugged. “It’s a gift.”

“It is, is it?”

“Not really, but it sounded good, right?” His
army green eyes flashed to hers.

“If you say so.” She ate another bite of
soup. “This is really good. You made it from scratch?”

“Yep. Secret family recipe guaranteed to
throw the flu right out of you.”

She smiled and took another bite.

Unlike Brad, Mark enjoyed cooking, and not
from a box, a can, or a jar. And this stock was too rich to have
been anything less than homemade.

Glancing back to the TV, she continued eating
her soup in silence. Then Mark returned her empty dishes to the
kitchen and spent the next ten minutes cleaning and putting away
the leftovers.

When he came back into the living room, he
handed her a cherry Popsicle and sat down beside her.

She stared at the Popsicle then smiled at
him. “You really didn’t have to do this today. You went way over
and beyond here.” He’d cancelled meetings and put off work just to
take care of her.

He ruffled her already unruly hair. “Just
taking care of my assistant. She’s pretty darn important to me. I
couldn’t do my job without her.”

His words felt like they held a double
meaning, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t sent out all those
résumés a few weeks ago. She was beginning to think she might
actually be able to pull off working for Mark. And there were other
things she was beginning to think she could do with him, too.

She didn’t really want to think about those
other things right now, though. Because if she did, she would
stress out over what exactly that meant, including figuring out
what to do about the engagement ring on her finger, as well as what
to do about Mark’s phobic aversion to commitment, which had left
her hanging like rotting fruit on the branch last year.

“You gonna be okay if I head out?” He was
still dressed in his slacks and dress shirt, even though his
sleeves were rolled up.

She honestly didn’t want him to leave, but it
probably wasn’t a good idea for him to stay.

“I think so.”

“Well, I’m only a phone call or text away if
you need anything. And I mean that. If you need anything, call me.
I don’t care what it is or if it’s three o’clock in the morning.
Okay?”

She sighed and offered a weak smile. “Okay,
Dr. Strong.”

He grinned. “And don’t you forget it.” He
gathered his laptop and packed it into his bag then paused. “I know
we’ve got a past, Karma, and I know you’re with someone else now,
but I’d still like to think we’re friends.” His gaze met hers. “You
can count on me if you need anything.”

She briefly looked away then met his gaze
again. So much about Mark was ideal. He was handsome, healthy,
intelligent, successful. He was the kind of man every woman wanted.
If only he could get out of his own way and allow himself to be
happy.

“Mark, you’re a good man.” She nodded
tightly, remembering all the wonderful things she had learned about
Mark last year, as well as the tragedy of his past. He had opened
up to her, and she didn’t think he opened up to many. Their time
together had been so very special, and it was obvious to her that
it had been special for him, too. They had shared something. A
common bond. An understanding. Somehow they just
got
one
another, and even now, with her hand promised to another and her
mind clouded by fever—or maybe
because
her mind was clouded
by fever—their connection was almost palpable. “Right now, I think
you’re the only man I
can
count on.” She quickly looked away
as the truth of her own statement slammed into her.

Even though what they’d had last summer
hadn’t been enough to make him want to stay with her, Mark seemed
more committed to her than Brad was. Her fiancé seemed more willing
to push her needs aside than acknowledge them, whereas Mark pushed
his own needs aside to put hers first. Right now, with fever
draining her strength, she didn’t want to think about what this
revelation meant for her and Brad’s future, but it didn’t feel like
a good thing.

Silence stretched between them, and then Mark
knelt in front of her and put his hands on her knees. “I’ll always
be here for you, no matter what.” He leaned forward and hugged
her.

Damn, did that feel good. A full-on,
unsolicited hug. She’d been starved for affection lately, and his
solid warmth and tenderness hit the spot.

After holding her for several seconds, he
pulled away, stood, and grabbed his bag. “Now, take two more
Tylenol and rest. Don’t even think about coming into work this
week.”

She crossed her finger over her heart. “I
promise.”

He grinned and headed for the door. “I’ll
check on you tomorrow.”

With that, he was gone, leaving in his wake
more questions than answers.

Chapter 25

Karma’s Blog

Sunday, October 28

“
Football Could End My Engagement”

B doesn’t like football. It’s just one of the many
differences between B and me. I love football. I love everything
about it. The rush of a successful Hail Mary. The frenzy of the
fans after the running back busts through the defensive line into
open field, gunning for the end zone. The hurried field goal in the
final seconds of the game that changes who wins and who loses in
the blink of an eye.

For me, football is a religion. It’s the
seed of tradition and defines autumn. Without football, the
departure of summer and changing of the leaves wouldn’t be so
special. It would be just another reason to dread the coming winter
instead of cause to bundle up and brave the outdoors.

I once went to a football game at Notre
Dame. A mighty feat, I must say. Not many can get tickets to a
Notre Dame football game. The day was cold and dappled with
drenching rain showers. The stadium seats were warped,
uncomfortable wooden benches. By the end of double overtime, my
feet were blocks of ice. But that day was one of the best times of
my life.

B would have hated it.

These are the things I’m sacrificing by
marrying him.

Do I want to sacrifice something I enjoy so
much?

But football isn’t the only way B and I are
different. He’s thirty-nine years old. I’ll only be twenty-six in a
couple of weeks. He likes classic rock. I prefer easy jazz. He’s a
workaholic. I want to spend more time living and enjoying life. And
let’s not forget his overly entitled, spoiled rotten daughter. B’s
and my ideas about parenting obviously lie at opposite ends of the
spectrum.

Will he and I really be able to have
children together if our styles are so vastly different?

About the only area where B and I agree is
in our love of running, but marathons do not a marriage make.

Then there’s M. Perfect, charming M.

He’s the whole package. Everything about him aligns
with everything about me. There’s a give-and-take with him. He
understands me without my even having to try, and he instinctively
seems to know what I need before I do. It’s always been that way
between M and me.

This week, I’ve been sick, and M has checked
on me every day. He took me to the doctor, made me chicken soup,
brought me more meds and Kleenex yesterday. He’s been terrific.

But I want to get married. I want to have a
husband and a family. M isn’t capable of that. The time I spent
with him last year proved as much.

So, where does that leave me, other than
between a rock and hard place? On one hand is B, who is ready and
eager to commit, but who, the longer I’m with him, feels further
and further apart from me. On the other is M, who fits me like a
tailored suit, but who wants nothing of commitment.

How did I find myself here?

Karma logged out and set her laptop on the
coffee table then plunged her hand into the box of Chicken in a
Biscuit crackers sitting beside her on the couch. Mark had brought
her two more boxes yesterday, along with a half-dozen boxes of
Kleenex, which should last her an entire year now that her flu was
winding down. He’d also brought her cough drops, another container
of orange juice, and more Popsicles. Oh, and then there was the
giant Crock-Pot of chili. She couldn’t forget the chili he’d made,
which was a nice accompaniment to a day of college football.

And it would make a fine lunch and dinner for
a day of professional football tomorrow, too. She turned on the TV
and snuggled under her throw blanket.

Around four o’clock, her phone rang. She
turned the sound down on the TV and picked up.

“Hey, Lisa.” She still sounded awful, but at
least she felt better.