I feel better. I don’t feel like a night out on the town, but I think my fever has broken and I don’t need to throw up.

Progress.

I can hear someone playing my piano and I smile. Leo is still here.

I use the restroom, brush my teeth and drape a throw blanket around my shoulders before I go find him sitting in my living room, in the same black t-shirt and jeans from last night. His feet are bare and he has a pen gripped in his teeth.

His hair is standing on end from his fingers.

Leo is here.

I cross to him and kiss his head. He shifts to the left, making room for me on the bench, and I join him.

“Hi.”

“Hey. How are you feeling?” He leans down and kisses my forehead twice, checking for fever and must be happy with what he feels because he backs away and grins down at me.

“Better. I don’t want to be in bed anymore.” I look down at his long-fingered hands resting on the piano keys.

“Okay, hang out with me.”

“What are you playing?” I ask.

“Something new.” His brow wrinkles as he concentrates on the keys, playing a soft melody that I’ve never heard before.

God, he’s so talented.

“I didn’t know you played the piano,” I murmur.

“Not well, but I don’t have my guitar here.”

“You didn’t have to stay,” I whisper and lean my head on his shoulder as he plays.

“Yeah, I did. I thought about taking you to the ER there for a while.” I look up into his stormy gray eyes in surprise. “But you came through.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

We sit in companionable silence as he plays the melody. Every so often he’ll stop and write something down, or switch the notes to suit him.

It’s fascinating.

“I can’t get the hook,” he grumbles, fumbling over the song. He stops and backtracks and tries to play it again, but he’s still not hearing it.

But I do.

I start to hum it and his eyes shoot down to me in surprise. “You play it,” he says and pulls his hands away from the keys.

And I pick up where he left off, playing what I hear in my head for the hook of the song.

“Your turn,” I mumble and lean my head back on his shoulder as he mimics what I just played and smiles down at me.

“You never stop surprising me.” He kisses my head and keeps playing, humming along.

I’m completely content here, sitting on my piano bench, with this complicated, moody man. As the song comes to a close, he rests his hands in his lap and leans his cheek on my head.

“Did you write the whole thing while I slept?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Leo?”

“Yeah, sunshine.”

“So not a one night thing,” I whisper.

He chuckles softly and drapes an arm around me, pulling me closer to him.

“I’m glad you’re catching up.”

Chapter Seven

“What did you pick?” I ask as I wander into the living room from the bedroom. I’m fresh out of the shower, finally feeling normal again in fresh clothes, my hair washed, and belly full of soup from my favorite deli down the block that Leo fetched me for dinner.

And I don’t even need to throw up.

If I don’t watch it, I could get used to being pampered.

The opening credits of a movie are paused across the TV.

“The new James Bond,” he grins at me from the couch and I plop down next to him. “Feel better?” he asks.

“Much, thank you.”

“No Nash t-shirt?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

I look down at my shirt and back up at him with a sassy grin. “The Goo-Goo Dolls are my favorite.”

“Right. That’s not what you said last night.” He pushes play on the remote and Adele begins to sing the opening song to the movie.

I love Adele.

“I was delirious with fever,” I mutter and settle in next to him, leaning my head on his shoulder.

“Liar,” he whispers with a chuckle and kisses my forehead.

I enjoy having him here, in my space, among my things. I never thought I could be so comfortable with someone for long stretches of time. People usually annoy the hell out of me.

Hell, sometimes I annoy the hell out of me.

Leo and I have settled into a rhythm. The conversations are interesting. The silences aren’t uncomfortable.

And he likes to have me near him, which is a comfort to me, not just because I’ve been sick.

I link my fingers with his and rub my thumb over the ink on his skin. I love his tattoos. I can’t stop looking at them. I wonder what these on his hands mean to him?

I wonder if he’d tell me if I asked?

Leo clears his throat, and I realize I’ve been lost in thought. I look up into his smiling gray eyes. “What?”

“The movie isn’t playing on my hand.”

“Sorry,” I mumble and pretend to watch the movie.

“Don’t you like James Bond?” he asks.

“Sure, I like it.”

“Why aren’t you watching it?”

I climb onto his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. “You know,” I begin and kiss his chin. “I haven’t made out during a movie since Ethan Middleton took me to see Toy Story in the eleventh grade.”

“What kind of a douche bag takes his date to see Toy Story?” Leo responds, wrapping his arms around my back.