Chapter 20

When I woke up the next day, I was alone in the bed, but I could hear Dillon in the kitchen moving around. I lifted my head, feeling dizzy as I looked at the clock.

Shit. It was almost eleven, and I was still half-asleep.

Moving slowly, I got up and walked to the bathroom. My stomach was roiling, and I knew I was going to need to throw up before I felt better. I vaguely remembered waking up earlier and throwing up as well before stumbling back to bed.

I washed up and threw on some fresh leggings and a T-shirt, swathing myself in the long burgundy knit sweater that I loved the most as I stumbled out to the living room.

"Hey, you're up," Dillon said, looking up from the stove as I went over and sat on the stool across from him. Every movement felt like it was going to jolt me into throwing up again, and I put my face into my hands again as I leaned onto the counter. "You feeling better?"

"Not really," I groaned as I leaned forward and pressed my forehead onto the cold granite countertop.

"Huh." He walked around the island to look at me, pressing his hand to my forehead to gauge my temperature before looking into my eyes. "What do you think it might be?"

"I'm not sure." I climbed down and went for a glass of water. "I started to think that I might've undercooked the meat from yesterday in the stir-fry I made."

"I'm not sick, though." He frowned at me as I drank the glass of water.

"You sure? Not even a little bit?" I asked.

"Healthy as a horse," he said, smiling slightly.

"Dammit." I crossed my arms and bit my lips.

"You're upset that I'm not sick?" He raised his eyebrow at me.

"Just that there's not an easy explanation."

"Well, you're gonna be thrilled when you find out what I have for you," he said, going over to the fridge and reaching inside for something before turning around to face me. My mouth dropped open at the sight of the plastic bottles in his hand.

"I have red, pink, or green," he said, setting the bottles on the counter, "and if none of these flavors work, I can always go out to get a different one."

"Red is great." I reached for the Gatorade. "When did you get these?"

"I went down to the market after you fell back asleep," he said, going back to the stove. "I was worried, and I wanted you to have what you needed if you were sick."

I set down the bottle and walked toward him, stopping a foot away from him so that I didn't breathe on him or spread any potential contagion to him. "You know, I think that you're a huge softie, and I like it."

He rolled his eyes a little as he looked over to the pot on the stove he was stirring, but I could see the shy pride on his face as he nodded.

"Thank you for taking care of me."

He came back toward me, and without seeming to care that I could get him sick, he leaned down to kiss me. As crappy as I felt, the kiss still stole my breath away, and I couldn't help reaching up and wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing myself along his whole body so that we were flush together.

When we broke apart, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to mine, holding me to him.

"What do you want to do?" he asked as he ran a finger down my back. "Do you want to read, or draw on the couch? Or do you want to go back to bed?"

"Would it be nuts if I said I wanted to go back to bed?"

"Not at all. Go ahead," he said, leaning down to kiss me again. "I'll be out here if you need me for anything, okay?"

"Okay." I went back to the room and stumbled into bed, rolling over to breathe in the scent on his pillow. I drifted off to sleep as I thought of him and how good he'd been to me.

* * *

"Ican't believe you actually made me chicken noodle soup," I said, taking another spoonful and sipping it slowly. It was piping hot and the perfect level of salty and sat perfectly well in my stomach.

"Well, I really made it for me. You just happen to be sick right now," he said, winking at me as he took a spoonful of soup himself. I stuck my tongue out at him, and he chuckled, putting his arm around me as we sat on the couch together, having lunch.

"I thought you said it was ‘my soup.'"

I'd slept for a few more hours before Dillon had come to wake me up, telling me that he'd made lunch for me and that my soup was ready.

"You're just a convenient excuse." He picked up the bowl and drained the last dregs.

I snorted. "Well, fair enough. It is pretty good soup." I drank the last of it and set it down on the coffee table. I rested my head on his shoulder, and he pulled my legs onto his lap and ran his hand along the length of my thigh.

"What do you think of me potentially calling my mom again? I know it's kinda soon, but I'd just really like to hear her voice right now."

He huffed out a breath and rolled his forehead onto my shoulder. "I know, I get it, but you just spoke to her a few days ago, Macy. It wouldn't be ideal."

"And you don't think that you're being a little paranoid? He hasn't found me up here yet."

"No, but he's still hanging around town like a bad smell like he knows you haven't gone far, and I'm not willing to take any risks with you."

I sighed. "I know. I know you're protective, and I'm not trying to be whiny or anything, but at this point, I just want to talk to her. This is the first time I've been sick since I've been here, and I just want to hear her voice."

He reached over to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. "What if I drive you to the trailhead tomorrow with the burner so you can talk to her?"

I knew I wasn't going to get any further with him than this, and honestly, I was pretty relieved I'd gotten this far. I did understand why he was asking me to be careful, as much as it sucked.

We passed a good amount of the rest of the afternoon together, with him working on his new contract and me doing my reading and sketching on the couch as he did it. After a few hours, he stood up, stretched, and called Bucky to him.

"Do you feel well enough to come on our walk?" he asked, looking down at me.

"Not really," I said, smiling up at him. "I think I kinda want to stay here and chill."

"Okay," he said, leaning down to kiss me. I kissed him back before he stood up, smiling, and turned to head out the door with Bucky.

I pulled my hair out of the bun it was in and tied it up into a new ponytail. When I looked over to the door, though, I saw that Dillon's phone had fallen out of his back pocket as he'd walked outside, so I went to go pick it up.

I knew that I shouldn't do it. I knew that if I did call my mom, I would be breaking his trust and potentially placing us in danger.

All of that was overridden as I unlocked his phone, using the password I'd seen him use, and dialed my mom's number in San Luis Obispo.

"Macy!" My mom's happy cry almost made me start crying. "What's going on, sweetie?"

"Not too much," I said, picking at my nails. "Dillon's out walking the dog right now."

"How is he?"

"Good! He's been cooking a lot of good food for me."

"Good," she said. "How are you, though, love? You sound a little odd. Are you ok?"

I chuckled. "How do you know when something's off?"

"It's a mom thing. You'll learn about it one day. What's going on?"

"I've actually caught a stomach bug," I said, placing my hand on my belly. "It's okay; Dillon's not sick. I've just been throwing up lately."

"Oh, sweetie," she said. I closed my eyes and bent my neck back, leaning into the sound of her voice. "I'm sorry you're sick and that I'm not there to take care of you. Do you have ginger ale? Is there a place around there where you can get good chicken soup?"

"No to ginger ale—I only have Gatorade that Dillon got for me this morning. But he did make chicken soup today, and it was amazing."

"Wow," she said, her voice swelling. "I'm jealous."

I giggled. "Yeah. It's delicious."

"Well, be careful of having too much Gatorade if you're not moving too much, okay? It can make you feel really bloated, and then you might feel more nauseous."

"Well, I'm already bloated, so at least we've already checked that off the list," I said. "My period should be starting any day now, though, so I think I'll feel better once that comes."

"It hasn't come yet?"

"No. I think the stress has been holding it up, actually."

She got quiet for a few minutes, to the point where I thought the call got cut off. "Mom?"

"I'm here." She was quiet again before asking, "I'm just curious—have you slept with this crazy attractive man who cooks for you, yet?"

Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. So much yes. And I hope to continue doing it. "No, Mom. I haven't slept with him."

"Oh," she said, her voice surprised. "Well, why not?"

"Mom, I'm not talking about this with you."

"Fiiiiiine," she said, sounding a lot like a teenager, and I laughed. She joined in with me, and we took another minute to chat before I told her I needed to go.

"I love you, Mama."

"I love you too, sweetie," she said. "Remember to ask him for ginger ale, okay?"

"Okay." I hung up and deleted the number from off the recent calls before going and placing it on the floor where it had fallen and then going and getting into bed with my book. All the while, even though I didn't actively think of it, there was a little voice lingering in my mind, reminding me of what my mom had asked. I shut my eyes, trying to keep the words from becoming real.