Page 73 of Something Like Shelter

“But I want to. Goodnight, honey.”

“Goodnight.”

I felt like garbage—sore throat, body aches, a fever, congestion that was causing a headache, and a bone-deep sort of exhaustion. But there was a warm, floating feeling in my chest as I drifted off to sleep.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Owen

By the next evening, it seemed like half of Willa’s family had descended on the house.

When I’d gotten back from work, someone I didn’t recognize—a woman with lilac hair, pale skin, and a long black dress—was walking down the street with Tuna happily prancing alongside her.

One man was in the driveway, hosing out the bins.

Inside, the countertops were full of dishes that, I imagine, had been dropped off by more family members than were currently in the kitchen working on what smelled like chicken noodle soup.

Women’s voices seemed mostly in the kitchen, laundry, and living room, while I could hear male voices in the family room and upstairs.

“Owen!” Willa’s mom greeted me, shooting me a beaming smile.

“Hey, Elsie,” I said. “Guess I didn’t need to bring anything back,” I said, waving the bag in my hand.

“Willa had some pretty bare cabinets. I’m sure it won’t go to waste. What’d you get?”

“The makings for soup. And a few different teas. Though, this is for minestrone, not chicken noodle. Which is the more traditional sick day food.”

“He cooks?” another woman asked.

“This is the contractor too, right?” another woman wondered.

“You didn’t mention how handsome he is,” a third said.

Elsie shot me an “uh oh” wince.

But a fourth woman appeared out of nowhere, taking my bag from me and passing me a cup of hot tea. “Bring this up to Willa for me. She needs to stay hydrated.”

“Bless you,” I murmured, getting a little wink out of the short, slight, dark-haired woman. “I’ll be back,” I announced to the rest before making my way upstairs.

I passed a man in the hallway who was a copy-paste of his father, minus a few years. The brother. He had a wiggly Adelaide in the crook of his arm.

“Owen,” he said, giving me a nod.

“Jackson,” I said giving him a nod back.

“Fair warning, she’s grumpy,” he told me before disappearing down the stairs to, I imagined, let someone else try to coddle Adelaide.

“I hear you’re grumpy,” I said, leaning in the primary bedroom door where Willa was curled under several blankets. Her hair was up in a messy bun, her nose red from blowing, her lids heavy from exhaustion.

“Jackson was being annoying,” she said, pulling herself up against the headboard and giving me a tired smile.

“Brothers can be that way. You have a house full.”

“It sounds like it. Mom has mostly been keeping them downstairs so I can ‘rest.’”

“But it’s hard to rest with a bunch of people in your house.”

“Yeah. Is that for me?” she asked, looking at the tea.