Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 26164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
“What saying?”
“About a spoonful of sugar helping the medicine go down.”
“In case you didn’t notice, I’m no Mary Poppins.”
She looked him over and grinned. “No? That’s disappointing.”
“Brat,” he muttered. “Take your medicine. No candy.”
“Not even a marshmallow?” she whined.
“I don’t have any.”
“But how do you drink your hot chocolate without marshmallows?” she asked, looking confused.
“I don’t drink hot chocolate.”
She gasped. “Who doesn’t drink hot chocolate?”
“I don’t really eat sweet things.”
Another gasp. Then her eyes filled with tears. “You didn’t like my snickerdoodles?”
Oh, fuck.
“Um, no.”
“That’s why you returned them. What about the chocolate chip cookies?”
Crap. A tear dripped down her cheek, making him feel panicky. He’d never been able to handle Gemma’s tears, and it seemed the same was true with Lucie.
“Rocky took the chocolate chip cookies,” he admitted.
“And the muffins? Did you throw them all out?”
“The muffins were good,” he admitted.
She sniffled.
“Don’t cry,” he told her gruffly. “I liked the muffins and the banana bread.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“Little girl, do I seem like the type who says things that aren’t true?”
“No, you’re honest even when it’s not very polite.”
He grimaced. He deserved that.
“Sorry I forced my baking on you.”
“Lucie,” he grasped hold of her hand, squeezing it gently. “You have nothing to apologize for. Now, time for your medicine.” He held up the pills.
“I don’t like taking them,” she grumbled.
“Well, I don’t have any liquid medicine or suppositories,” he told her.
“Nobody is sticking anything in my butt,” she protested.
“Well, that’s a shame since I only have a rectal thermometer.”
She gave him a suspicious look, and he grinned. He couldn’t help but tease her.
Concern filled him as her eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open.
“What? What is it?” he asked her, rubbing his cheek. Did he have something on his face?
“You smiled. I’ve never seen you smile.”
He’d smiled before, hadn’t he?
“I didn’t think you knew how.”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on, open up. If you’re a good girl, I’ll turn on the television for you.”
“I wanna watch Mary Poppins.”
“We’ll see what’s showing.”
“Sometimes cold medicine makes me loopy,” she warned.
“I’ll cope.”
With a sigh, she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. All right, seemed like he was giving her the medicine. He put the pills on her tongue, then handed her some water.
“I’m going to make you some soup.”
“Okie dokie.”
He stood and turned on the television.
“Atticus?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Unsurprisingly, Mary Poppins wasn’t playing on the television, but he managed to find her some show about two teenage girls who liked to babysit that she seemed happy with. He heated up some soup, then carried it in to where she was half-reclining against some pillows.
She turned a wide grin on him. “Atticus! Atti-cus! Atty-batty! My Atti-Atti.”
She hadn’t been kidding about the cold medicine making her loopy. She was grinning wildly. He didn’t like the glassy look in her eyes. While the soup cooled, he might take her temperature.
Setting the soup down, he put the back of his hand on her forehead. Shit. She was burning up.
“Aw, did you make me soup? I love soup.”
“Just heated it up.”
“That’s so nice. You’re so nice. I take back every bad thing I thought about you. Your nickname shouldn’t be Sir Grouch-a-lot, it should be Sir Nice-a-lot.”
Jesus help him.
“I’m going to get a thermometer. Don’t touch that soup.”
When he returned a few minutes later, she was fanning her tongue with her hand, and tears were running down her cheeks. “Soup. Hot.”
“I told you not to touch the soup.” He grabbed her water and held it up so she could drink.
“Sorry.” She sniffled. “Wanted to try it. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Did you burn your mouth?”
“Little bit.” She looked so miserable and sympathy filled him. He picked up the thermometer and put the tip in her ear.
It beeped. 103. Shit.
“Am I dying?” she wailed.
“Course not,” he reassured her. “Just a bit of a cold. You’ll be fine.”
“I hate being sick. Being sick is sucky.”
“Eat some more soup.”
“Hot.”
“I’ll cool it down.” He ended up sitting on the bed and feeding her spoonfuls of soup that he checked first to ensure it wasn’t too hot.
When her eyes started to droop, he stopped trying to feed her. She probably needed sleep more than anything.
“Is this your bed?” she mumbled.
“No, baby.”
“‘Cause I can sleep on the sofa,” she added.
He frowned. “You’re not sleeping on the sofa.”
“Don’t mind. Where I always sleep.”
“When you’re sick?” he asked as he tucked her in.
“Nope. All the time.”
He stared down at her for a long moment. She looked so tiny in the bed, her skin pale, her plump lips parted slightly as she breathed, her poor nose looked sore and raw.
And yet, he still thought she was beautiful.
Fuck.
“Why would you sleep there all the time?”
“Comfier than the bed. And warmer. Front of the fire. No money for other heating.”
“Why don’t you have any money? What do you do for a living?”