Reagan found a kettle and filled it. While she waited for it to heat up, she checked on Jill and found her with her head back and her mouth slightly open as she slept not so peacefully. Reagan quietly ambled across the spacious living room to sneak a peek at Jill’s books. Lots of marketing and advertising books. Second shelf was all thrillers and memoirs. But what caught Reagan’s attention the most was the only personal item on the shelf.

A large candle hid a wooden picture frame. It held a picture of what she assumed was a young Jill, judging by the big brown eyes and small scar on her chin. She was maybe six or seven, wearing a Pacers hat that was two sizes too big. She sported a wide smile that showed a missing front tooth, and ketchup stained the corner of her mouth. She looked happy—an emotion Reagan didn’t think she had seen yet from Jill. And she wasn’t sure if Jill was even capable of it anymore.

The kettle whistled, and Reagan fumbled to put the picture back as Jill let out a loud snore and sat up, looking around with a furrowed brow.

“What’s going on?” she asked groggily.

“It’s just the teakettle. Let me go get that.” Reagan rushed to the kitchen and pulled it off the burner. She snatched a tea bag from a jar on the counter, placed it in a mug, and poured the hot water over it. As it steeped, she pulled out her phone and ordered some chicken noodle soup for delivery from a local diner. Taking the mug to living room, she joined Jill on the couch. “Here you go.”

“Thanks. You know you don’t need to stay. I’ve been able to take care of myself since I was a kid,” Jill replied with a bite to her voice.

Need to unpack that statement sometime, maybe when she isn’t sick. “I’m sure you can, but since I’m here, I might as well help you.”

“Suit yourself,” Jill mumbled. She settled further into the couch and leaned into Reagan.

She hid a smile as Jill got more comfortable. “Some soup will be here in about fifteen minutes. What are we watching?”

“Oh, um, RuPaul’s Drag Race,” she replied quietly, as if she didn’t want to admit it.

“Which season?”

“Eleven.”

“Awesome. I love Nina West. I can’t believe she—”

Jill cut her off by covering Reagan’s mouth with her hand. “No spoilers. I’m only on the second episode.”

Reagan smiled behind Jill’s hand and gently pulled it away. “My apologies. I promise, no spoilers,” Reagan replied as she lifted her feet up on the coffee table and crossed her legs at the ankle.

“Sure. Make yourself at home, Ms. Murphy.”

“Don’t mind if I do, Ms. Jacobs.”