I woke up with, what felt like, the beginnings of Sam's cold. No happy!
"What are you talking about?" he said, when he came downstairs. "I'm perfectly fine." Then he descended into a fit of coughing.
The timing was perfect, I was secretly pleased, actually, not so secretly.
"Oh yes, I can hear that."
He smiled and looked away. I cleared my throat and he looked back. I raise my eyebrows and tilted my head and looked at him through the very top of my eyes. He gave me a toothy grin.
“What can I say?”
“Nothing,” I said. “But I’ll be needing chicken soup and pats.”
“I see,” he said. He stepped towards me, took my face in his hands and kissed me on the forehead.
“More,” I said.
He kissed me again. He felt my forehead with the palm of his hand, like your mother might. He tousled my hair. “You feel okay.”
“I might have to stay home,” I said in a child’s voice.
“Of course you do,” he said in a mother’s tone.