Page 39 of You Again

I slump onto the couch. “You’re way too nice. You know?”

“Nah. I’m nice to nice people. That’s all.”

Yawning, I close my eyes and tip over until my head rests against the arm of the couch. “That’s doubtful. You’re like Fran. People like you and Fran are nice to everyone. Even people who don’t deserve it.”

“Well,” he says, and suddenly his hand is slipping beneath my head. I open my eyes with his touch and peer up into his icy blue eyes. “I guess I’m lucky that you’re someone who deserves it.” He lifts my head, then slides a decorative pillow I’d tossed on the floor beneath me. I blink and he’s at my feet, lifting them up onto the couch. “Rest. I’ll be back.”

Zev has apparently found my kitchen. I can hear him rustling and searching around. But I can’t be bothered to worry about it or open my eyes just yet.

I’m not sure how long I keep my eyes closed. I don’t remember falling asleep, but then… I open them and there’s soup on one end of my now-clean coffee table and piles of folded clothes on the other end.

My head is fuzzy, and it takes me a minute to decide that I should probably complain about this. “You folded my clothes,” I say, pushing myself up until I’m resting on my elbow.

“I did.” He’s sitting in Gramp’s now-uncluttered recliner.

I adjust a little more and I’m all the way up. Officially sitting. “There could have been underwear in there.”

Zev lifts one brow. “Unfortunately, no—maybe next time.”

I snort. It’s not pretty with my nose stuffed and phlegm taking up space in my throat and chest. It’s difficult to stay mad at my very, very new friend when he talks like that.

“Your soup might need to be reheated. But it’s almost two, which means Parents’ Pick reruns will be on soon.”

I jerk, just a little, but it hurts my head just the same. Fran got me hooked on that old reality TV show. We watch rerun after rerun of parents setting their adult children up on blind dates. It’s hilarious. It’s also my guilty pleasure and not something I admit to watching freely.

I scoff. “You watch that junk?”

His cheeks go pink. I think I’ve embarrassed him. “Sometimes.”

“Well, my head hurts. And the lights from the TV only make it worse. So, thanks, but no reality TV for me today.”

“Do you want your book?” He lifts the book he brought from the coffee table.

“No, reading hurts, too. I am a hot mess express, Zevulun Hayes. Are you sure you want to be here?”

“Not feeling well and a hot mess are not the same. And—” His brow cinches. “I’m sorry. You must be bored. I could read to you.” He holds up the book he brought. “While you eat, I mean. I’m sure you want to rest.”

I do. I need to. But all I’ve done is rest. I wouldn’t mind Zev reading to me. In fact, I stare over at him—tall, broad, and muscular reading to me might be one of my personal fantasies. Sure, in that fantasy, Pooh Bear isn’t adorning my body, and there’s a whole lot less mucus involved. But still…

I clear my throat and hold back a cough. “I’m sure you have better things to do.”

Zev gives me the smallest of half grins. “Why is it so difficult to say yes?”

I swallow, caught, then hold a hand to my pained throat. “I don’t know.” Sighing, I lean back into the couch cushion, letting it swallow me up. I shut my eyes. “Fine. Yes, Mr. Hayes. That would be lovely. Feed me. Read to me. Make me feel like a human again.”

“Happy to.”

And that’s exactly what he does. He brings me seconds on the soup and grape juice—my favorite—and he starts from the beginning. I feel a little like the kid from The Princess Bride. Fran loves that movie. Maybe when I agreed, he should have said, “As you wish.”

“What’s this called again?” I ask, interrupting before Zev can begin chapter two.

He looks up from his young adult novel. “She Counted The Stars.”

“A true story?”

“It’s based on real events of German youth during World War Two, but this girl is fictional.”

“What’s with you and all the war books?” With my stomach full and my head soothed for the first time in days, I lie on my side, taking in each and every one of Zev’s words. The cadence of his deep voice is nice, too.