Only You by K.T. Quinn

40

Molly

The Day We Split Up

The next morning I woke up alone.

I stretched my arms out and didn’t feel Donovan next to me. Sunlight streamed through the window as I imagined the breakfast he was probably making for me in the kitchen. Or maybe he went to get something at the market. More condoms, probably. We’d been going through a lot of them lately.

Which, of course, was a good problem to have.

I lazily grabbed my phone from the nightstand and checked my email. I had a new one from Andrea at the boutique.

Hey Molly, just checking in. Everything is still closed. I went ahead and took care of the monthly inventory, even though it hasn’t changed much from last month. There’s not much else for me to do until things open up again.

I heard there’s a way for small businesses to get interest-free loans. Maybe that will help the store get by? Just until things are normal? Everything is in your name so I can’t do it for you.

Hope you’re still eating lots of yummy pasta in Rome!

-Andrea

I replied back and told her the loans were a good idea, and that I would take care of it soon. But as soon as I sent the email, my motivation disappeared like steam after a shower. I didn’t feel like doing anything related to the boutique. I was very much enjoying being away from my problems.

I hadn’t realized just how much I needed a vacation from everything, even though it turned out totally different than I expected. The previous six months had been a whirlwind of stress: dealing with my parents’ death, planning the funeral, taking care of their estate, and then immediately jumping into management of mom’s store. I had been in fifth gear non-stop before coming to Rome.

Now that I was relaxing? I didn’t want to go back to the way things were.

The problem, I knew, was that owning your own business was a lot of work. You had to love the business, and be driven enough to give it all your blood, sweat, and tears. But the boutique wasn’t mine. It was mom’s. And even though I was holding onto it out of guilt, deep down I knew I couldn’t do that forever.

What am I going to do?

I could sell the business, although I didn’t know who would want to buy it in the middle of a pandemic. I owned the building the boutique was in, so I could always sell that too. Or close the boutique down and rent the space to another retailer. I didn’t know how much income that would provide.

I sat up in bed and decided to stop thinking about it. I knew I was avoiding my problems, but I just wasn’t ready to deal with them yet. Instead, I decided to text the sexy man who wasn’t in my bed.

Molly: You had better be downstairs making me breakfast. That’s the only excuse I’ll accept as to why you’re not spooning me right now.

Molly: Unless you’re getting more condoms and oranges. That is also an acceptable reason.

Moments after I hit send, I heard a high-pitched chime sound. It was the sound Donovan’s phone made when he received a text. Had he left his phone here?

I searched under the covers and next to the bed. Then I sent him another text. This time I heard the chime more clearly: it was coming next door, from Donovan’s room.

And the door connecting our rooms was closed.

That’s weird.

I frowned at the door, then knocked. “Donovan? Are you over there?”

I heard the rustling of his down comforter, and then the squeak of mattress springs. “I’m here.”

I opened my door, but came face-to-face with the door leading into his room. I tried the knob but it was locked.

“What are you doing over there? Let me in.”

I heard footsteps walking across the floor. “I can’t do that.”

“What?” I said with a nervous laugh. “Why not? Do you have another surprise for me?”

“Molly,” he said from the other side of the door, “I think I’m sick.”

I tensed. Was this a joke? I waited for the punchline but it never came. I realized I was holding my breath, so I let it out, then took a step away from the door.

“What are your symptoms?” I asked slowly. My mind was cloudy without coffee. “How do you feel? Do you have a dry cough?”

“One question at a time,” he said. His voice was soft, but not hoarse. “My throat is a little sore, but I don’t have a cough. Mostly I’m just exhausted. Like, really tired. Fatigued worse than after pulling a triple-shift at the diner.”

“Okay, okay, that’s not bad,” I said. “Maybe you’re just tired! You only had one cup of coffee yesterday, because then we played hide and seek. And you were swimming! Yeah, the swimming! You’re not used to doing that type of workout. You said so yourself.”

There was a long pause. “Molly, this feels different.”

“You don’t know that. You might just be tired.”

“I hope you’re right. But until I know for sure, I can’t be around you.”

I blinked. “We’ve already been around each other non-stop. If you’re sick…”

Then I probably am too. The thought slammed into place like a deadbolt and I started analyzing my own body. I didn’t feel tired, aside from normal morning sleepiness. I didn’t have a cough. My throat wasn’t sore. I ran over to the desk and took a sip of cold leftover coffee. It was bitter. I still had my sense of taste.

“We can’t be together right now,” Donovan said through the door. “I can’t risk it. You know it’s for your own good.”

No, I thought. Please don’t make me be alone again.

“I can go in there and snuggle with you,” I said enticingly. “That will make you feel better. I don’t care if I’m risking myself.”

“Molly…”

I sighed. “You’re not budging on this, are you?”

“You can’t see me, but I’m shaking my head right now.”

I glanced at the sunlight streaming through the glass balcony door. A thought came to me…

“I locked my balcony door,” Donovan said, as if he could read my mind through the wall. “You can’t hop across and get in that way.”

“I have the keys to the hotel.” I grabbed them from the desk and gave them an audible jangle. “I bet one of them is the master key that will open your door.”

“If you open my door,” Donovan warned, “I’ll never forgive you.”

“Fine.” He wasn’t going to let me in, even if he was just tired.

I changed mindsets. Donovan, my quarantine boyfriend, was sick. I needed to take care of him. Hopefully it was just a cold or something, and I could help. Because if it really was the virus…

Stop it, I told myself. Focus on what you can do.

“What do you want for breakfast?” I asked.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Do you need medicine? That cough syrup downstairs is good for more than just fooling Italian police officers.”

“I already got what I needed downstairs. Cough syrup, a bottle of aspirin, and a thermometer.”

I tensed. “Are you running a fever?”

“No.”

“You hesitated before answering. Are you lying?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Molly.”

“You lied during hide and seek. What’s your temperature? Take it again and send me a text message photo.”

“It was thirty-seven point two.”

I blinked. “What the hell does that mean!”

“The thermometer is Celsius. That’s like ninety-nine degrees Fahrenheit.”

“So you have a fever!”

“Barely,” he insisted. “I’m fine. I’ll take my temperature every hour and let you know if it gets higher.”

“Fine,” I said stubbornly, “but the next time you take it, I want photographic proof. What do you want for breakfast?”

“I told you I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat. I’m not a master chef like the famous Donovan Russo, but I can manage eggs and toast.”

“I’ll eat lunch in a few hours,” he said. His voice sounded weak. “Right now I just want to go back to sleep. Is that okay, Doctor Feisty?”

I chewed my lip. “Okay. Sleep is good. Do you need anything from the store while it’s open? I don’t mind going.”

He chuckled and said, “I’ve got everything I need. I’m going to sleep now, okay?”

“Okay.” I sighed and said, “I don’t like being on the other side of a wall from you.”

I felt a thump, like he was leaning against the door. “It’s killing me too.”

I rested my forehead on the door and imagined I could feel his warmth on the other side.

“Good night,” he said. I heard his footsteps walking back to the bed.

“Donovan?”

The footsteps stopped. “Yes?”

I wanted to say something more to him. It felt like my heart had been torn open and a whole bunch of new emotions were pouring out. There were words I wanted to say to him, words that scared me.

I held them back and said, “You’ll be okay. I know you will.”

“Hope so.”