“This is the best Valentine’s Day ever,” Eliza said, smiling.
Henry arched a skeptical eyebrow at her, which would have been a more impressive expression if he wasn’t sitting in a blanket cocoon, clutching a mug of tea with both hands.
“Yes,” she said, as if he’d said something. “Every other year, it’s about what I get. Candy and jewelry and the perfect Instagram post. But this year, you needed me. I made soup and brought tissues and made tea! And it felt really good.”
He smiled. “That’s the spir— Ah-choo!”
“Bless you,” said Eliza, and carefully kissed his cheek.