The second I stepped into the hallway, Presley straightened up.He looked as though he'd been waiting out there for a long time. His hands were red from the cold, and the chill of the night air clung to his hair.When he saw me stop, he immediately fumbled the thermos open and started offering me a portion of bisque with clumsy, hurried hands."Natalie, I made shrimp bisque. You used to love this back in the day, I remember. You just got off work, so have some while it's hot, okay?"Steam curled up from the thermos.Staring down at the thermos, I recalled the time I was burning up with a fever, lying helpless in bed, asking him to bring me a glass of warm water.He'd been in the middle of a game and hadn't even turned his head."Don't you have your own two hands? Stop being so dramatic," he'd said.Later, my fever had climbed to 103°F. I managed to drag myself up to stagger toward the kitchen, and I'd made it halfway there before my legs gave out, and I crouched on the floor,
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