“No, darling,thisis what I should be doing. I only wish you weren’t going through this.” I wipe the tears from her cheeks and hold her face in my hands. “It will be better soon.” I kiss her cheek, then rest my forehead against hers, wishing there was some way I could take this from her. Transfer her pain directly from her head to mine.
There is a soft knock at the door, and I retrieve the medicine, thank the woman profusely, then go back to Ivy’s side. I consult the bottle and realize I have no idea if she has any allergies. After confirming she doesn’t, I help her take the medicine, but then I’m at a loss for what else to do.
I’m reaching for my phone to search for how best to help people with migraines when Ivy speaks.
“Can you rub my head and neck?”
“Of course.” I look at how she is lying and consider where I should go.
Ivy starts moving toward the center of the bed. “Lie down.”
She doesn’t offer any explanation and simply waits for me to obey.
I do.
Once I’m settled, Ivy rolls toward me, resting her head on my chest. The feel of her cheek and her wild hair against my skin threatens to take me to places I don’t need to go. She wraps her arm around my middle, and I think I want to be the one to help her through any and everything she ever has to go through. I want to be at her side to love and support her through everything she does. The good and the bad. Everything.
“Can you reach my neck and head like this?”
“Yes.” My voice sounds broken, and I hope she doesn’t notice. I bring my right hand to her neck and my left to her head. I’m not sure where on her head to massage, and I’m about to ask when I feel her relax against me. That’s got to be a good sign.
She lets out a relieved breath, and I can’t explain how it makes me feel to be able to help her like this.
I close my eyes and fight a shiver as her thumb starts softly brushing the skin at my side. I thread my fingers through her hair—like I’ve wanted to so many times—but with the goal of helping relieve any tension in her scalp. She hums and relaxes further, her thumb still branding me with the fire of her touch. I think I should get her name tattooed on that spot, so it will always be hers.
“Go to sleep, darling,” I whisper, before placing a slow kiss on the top of her head. As if she needed my permission, she snuggles closer, it takes some time, but eventually I notice her breathing change as she drifts into dreams.
It’s not long before I follow, hoping to meet her there.
I wake up cocooned with Ivy. She’s facing me and I have her pulled against my chest. Right where she belongs. It feels like everything a morning should be. We’d gone to sleep on top of the sheets with the quilt pushed to the side, but apparently at some point in the night, we pulled it over us.
It’s going to be hard to come back from this to anything pretend, so I hold onto her as long as I can. I stretch the night as far as it will reach, hoping that when those clear green eyes greet the morning, they will see me in a new light.
I’m on the verge of falling back into a contented sleep when Ifeel Ivy begin to move within my arms. I open my eyes, needing to watch her awaken.
“Would it make things more difficult if I said I never want to move from here?” Ivy closes her eyes again and runs her hand down my spine. It’s all I can do to keep from kissing her.
“Probably. But if you’d like, I’ll ask to buy the inn.”
She laughs and rolls onto her back. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“For you? Absolutely.” I prop my head up on my arm to look at her. “Migraine gone?”
“It is. Thank you. Actually, I normally wake up a little hungover after a night-time migraine, but I’m feeling surprisingly refreshed. I’m sorry I called you from your room, though.” Ivy turned her head toward me, an apologetic smile on her lips.
“Trust me. I’ve never been less bothered by anything in my entire life.”
“You slept okay?”
“Hmmm … now that you mention it …” I sigh dramatically. “I slept better than ever.”
Ivy rolls her eyes and whacks me with one of the many extraneous pillows, then turns to her side, laughing, her back to me. I wonder how she’d feel if I slid closer and held her that way, but I don’t get the chance to try. She sits up and stretches, her little flamingo tank top showing off bits of her perfect, creamy skin.
“It’s so nice not to have a migraine,” she says, arms over her head.
“I guess the food didn’t fix your headache.”
“No. It got worse and worse.”
