Reckless Hearts (Oak Harbor #2)(31)

I go meet Annie and Liv in the garden. “Ready to make a move?” I ask.

Annie smiles happily, looking around. “I could sit here all day. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

“Very good. But you should sleep on it,” I tell her gently. “Take your time, and think it through. We’re in no hurry.”

“See?” Liv interrupts. “I told you she wouldn’t push you into something just to make the sale.”

I sneeze again. “I should put that on my business cards.”

Annie tuts at me. “You need to get back to bed.”

“But we have another place to view. I’ll be fine,” I promise again, but she just guides me out the door.

“No offence, my dear, but you’re in no state to be working. Besides, I don’t need to see anywhere else. You go take it easy, and we’ll talk tomorrow about making an offer.”

I’m in no state to disagree. I say my goodbyes to Annie and Liv, and make it back home, my head pounding worse than ever. Every step takes Herculean effort, and all I want to do is crawl into bed, but I manage to change into sweatpants and my slubbiest shirt. I’m just making tea when the doorbell rings.

I shuffle to the door. “Whoever you are, please just leave me in peace—”

I stop. Will’s on my front step with a bag of groceries and a concerned look on his too-damn-perfect face. “What are you doing here?” I ask, torn between being glad to see him and wanting to slam the door in his face. I look like a zombie, spraying germs with every sneeze. The last thing I want is him to see me like this!

“I thought you might need some TLC,” he says, stepping inside. “And clearly, I was right.”

He drops a kiss on my forehead, then frowns and presses the back of his hand to my cheek. “You’re burning up. Do you have a fever? Have you drunk enough water today?”

“Mneugh,” I manage to whimper, feeling pathetic. I know I should send him away, but my whole body is aching now, and all I want is to just curl up on the floor.

“Poor baby.” Will grins. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” Before I can protest, he sets the groceries down, picks me up in his arms, and carries me down the hall to my bedroom.

“I bet this isn’t what you had in mind, taking me to bed,” I manage to make a feeble joke as he sets me in the middle of the mattress, and plumps up my pillows. “You’re not supposed to be seeing me like this—” I sneeze. “All snotty and gross and sick. It’s not—” I sneeze again. “Sexy,” I finish weakly, sinking back into the pillows.

“Sure you are.” Will tucks my duvet around me. “You get some rest. I’ll be downstairs, cooking up something to help that head.”

“Uh huh,” I murmur, already drifting off. My eyes fall shut, and I feel his lips on my cheek, the barest whisper of a kiss. Then his footsteps tap down the hall. I sink into the softness of my sheets, listening to the sound of cabinets opening and closing and pans rattling on the stove. Despite my aching limbs and the pounding in my head, I feel . . . comforted. It’s nice having someone here taking care of me, even if Will is the last person on my list.

The afternoon breeze slips through the open windows, and I drift in and out of sleep for the rest of the day. I’m not sure how long I’m out of it, only that it’s getting dark when I surface, my throat dry and my stomach rumbling for something to eat. Something smells amazing, so I manage to get out of bed and pad down the hall to the bathroom; rinsing my face with cold water before I venture further, into the living room.

Will’s sitting with his feet up on the coffee-table, sketching something in a workbook. The radio’s on low, playing some jazz band, and that delicious smell is wafting from the kitchen, filling the room with warmth and fragrant herbs.

I pause, my chest tightening. Everything about this scene is so relaxed, so homey, I almost wish I could freeze time just like this. Then Will looks up.

“She rises,” he says, giving a lazy grin. He puts his book aside.

“No, don’t get up—” I protest, but he’s already coming over.

“Feeling any better?” Will checks my forehead again.

I make a face. “Define ‘better.’ What’s that smell?” I ask hopefully. “Did you order in?”

Will smiles. “Even better. Chicken soup, my mom’s recipe. It’s ready, but didn’t want to wake you, you were pretty out of it,” he adds, leading me to the couch. “I’m surprised you managed to sleep through your snoring, though. Either that, or a bear decided to join you for a nap.”

“I don’t snore!” I protest weakly, settling on the couch. He laughs.

“Sure you don’t.”

Will goes to the kitchen to fix me a bowl, and I glance at the workbook he was sketching in. He’s working on new furniture designs, a cool table made from wood and industrial steel. I can’t help flip through the pages, impressed. There are some beautiful pieces here, and it’s clear from every line and drawing that he’s invested in every idea.

“OK, I think I’ve got it right, but don’t hold it against me if there’s too much salt.” Will comes back, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and some bread alongside. “I had to call my mom to get the recipe. It’s a family secret, so don’t even ask.”