5. Juniper

FIVE

My eyes slowly open, blinking away the sleep, and my first thought is I slept all night. There was no rushing to the bathroom, no stomach cramping. The world worked in my favor. Still, I'm hesitant to make any sudden movements or get up right away. I replay the day before, Lawson coming over and taking care of me.The absolute last person I'd expect to drop whatever he should be doing in order to help me feel better. Which kind of makes me wonder if it was all a dream. I pinch the skin between my thumb and forefinger. Sure enough, a stinging sensation rolls through my body.

"Lawson?" My throat feels like glass shards have taken hold. Clearly, there won't be a whole lot of talking coming from me. There's no answer. Either he left, or he's asleep on the couch. The spare room doesn't have a bed. Instead, it houses my macrame supplies. Arrowleaf has been my home for a while now, the longest place I've kept roots in since leaving my parents' house. And my craft room is where my brain shuts off. I also get to let my creative side take hold. There's no thinking about work, what needs to be done, and especially no thinking about Lawson.

I didn't have a use for company since I tend to stick to myself. I've had friends come and go one too many times, the hazard of having parents like mine. Then, as I got older, I worked a lot and went to school or studied during my down time. That's probably the reason I'm so leery when it comes to Lawson, wondering why he'd want to help me when all I've done is push him away. Sure, some of the shit he says or does get on my nerves and can be a bit abrasive, but down to his core, he's a great guy.

Afraid to make any sudden movements, I slowly sit up in bed. A wave of nausea decides to make its presence known. "Not again. I swear to all that's holy I'm going to scream." Okay, probably not since I'm currently rocking a sore throat. Still, it sounds good. My eyes move to the nightstand to my left. There are crackers on a plate as well as a different cup from yesterday. My eyes go blurry.

I'm not going to cry.

I'm not going to cry.

I am absolutely not going to cry.

Water tumbles from my eyes as I grab a cracker and the drink Lawson obviously left for me. Thankfully, no one is around to watch me fall apart even after my little mantra. I'm going to have to repay the favor of him helping me. The only problem with that is I'm still having a hard time getting over the fact he doesn't remember a single memory from our night together. How does a woman forgive a man who was too far gone to recall anything while also trying not to shoulder most of the blame? I mean, Lawson wasn't falling-down drunk. He walked fine, talked fine, and he sure as hell fucked fine. My core, the traitorous bitch, clenches, all but begging for Lawson and the way he moved in and out of my body.

I nibble on my crackers, one after the other. Finally able to eat something without getting sick is a damn blessing. Then I go after my drink. The carbonation tastes so good. I take sip after sip, not stopping until it's completely gone. I'm also well aware my drink isn't watered down, which tells me Lawson more than likely stayed the night or came back early this morning to check on me. Either way, I've never been more grateful.

There's no time like the present, especially since I'm feeling a little better, to wash the stink off my body. I slide off the bed, taking a cracker with me to munch on, and walk toward the bathroom. My nose must be playing tricks on me. I swear there's a scent of lemon wafting through the air, and my candles are more of the coffee and cinnamon vibe. The only time I use a fresh smell is for cleaning. I flip the light switch in the bathroom. My eyes sweep the area. Everything is picked up. There aren't any towels on the floor, and everything is back in its original place. I'm moving out of the room, through my bedroom, and toward the living room. The way my house is set up, I'm there in only a few short steps. The floorplan isn't my favorite, but considering free room and board came with the job, I wasn't complaining. When you walk in through the front door, you're immediately in the living room, the kitchen is straight ahead, and off to the left-hand side is my bedroom with an ensuite bathroom. The right side of the house has a spare room, bathroom, and a laundry room with storage off to the side.

"Holy shit." The air whooshes out of my lungs. I'm in a state of shock as my eyes scan each corner of the house. Everything is picked up. There isn't a single thing out of place. The dishes are done, the counters are clean, my shoes are picked up and on the shoe rack. Even the blankets are picked up, draped over the corner of the couch. What shocks me the most is the folded piles of clothes in a laundry basket. Lawson did all of this? Why? I'm left with too many questions and not enough answers. I look for my phone, unsure of where I left it last. After promising Catherine I'd answer should she call or text, that's the last I saw of it. I backtrack to my bedroom because I'm pretty sure it's somewhere lost in the sheets, when a piece of paper catches my attention. There on the coffee table is a note. I pick it up and see it's from Lawson. I'd recognize the capital block style with a slight slant to it anywhere.

Damn it, now I'm really going to cry. I bring the note to my chest, hugging it like it's the big man himself. I'm a damn basket case, being sick last month with an infection and now this. I think this is a sign it's time to take a vacation or at least quit working seven days. There's nothing in my contract about the hours I choose to keep. It's on me alone, and now I'm thinking about restructuring my hours. I walk back into my room, needing to find my phone. I've got a couple of people who I need to text. I"ve got a smile on my face, a pep in my step, and a semi-back-to-normal stomach.

I wonder where I should put Lawson's letter, wanting to keep it safe. I could keep it in my nightstand drawer or in my panty drawer. Except I kind of want to show it off. A frame would work, but that's a bit too much, and if I get sick again, I have a feeling he'd beat down my door like he did yesterday. I opt to place the letter in the mirror above my dresser, tucking the edge in the corner.

"Way to hold a grudge, Juniper Lynn." One random act of kindness doesn't negate all the other bullshit. My bed is a mess of blankets, the comforter, and sheets. Everything is tossed this way and that. I climb up my bed from the bottom, yanking and pulling at the mountains of fabric.

"There you are, you little stinker." Figures it would be under a pillow. My hand meets the gold and white device, and I see the texts I've missed.

Catherine: Checking in. I hope Lawson didn't pester you too much. Call me when you feel up to it.

Lawson: Stay home today. These damn fools can drive themselves into town to get stitched up.

Birdie: Hey, Catherine mentioned you were sick. Are you okay?

I smile as I see the second message from Birdie.

Birdie: Don't answer my question. That was dumb. Of course you aren't. Anyways, Tully and I are available if you need anything. Feel better 3

Laughter escapes me, and unfortunately in doing so, I realize I'm not nearly as better as I thought I'd be. And I may be stubborn, trying to do everything on my own, but I know for certain today's the day I'll be heading to the doctor. Hopefully, I can make it without taking a few pitstops. It also looks like Lawson is getting his wish. There's no way I'll make it into work today.

"Damn it." I'm running to the bathroom once again. This really freaking sucks.