I heard the creak of the bedroom door and glanced up to see Chandler, already in his work clothes. His usual charming crooked smile made my stomach flutter, especially with the bright blue of his Wal-Mart vest. He wore it over a light blue button-down shirt, sleeves casually rolled up. Dark wash jeans hugged his legs, and sturdy brown work boots completed his look. A simple black watch adorned his wrist.
"Hey, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?" he inquired, moving closer to the bed.
"Not great," I confessed, letting my phone drop onto the mattress with a soft thud. The screen's brightness was making my nausea worse. "Still tired. And kinda queasy."
Chandler's smile turned into a look of worry. He reached out, his touch warm and reassuring, gently cupping my face. The familiar warmth of h
