“And if you’re still not feeling well,” he adds. “Don’t come in to work tomorrow, got it?”
I force a brave smile. “Got it.”
He leaves, and I’m alone in the villa with the ceiling fan.
I reach for my phone and text Jess:I’m sick and Corin brought me soup and stayed all day while I rested and then left and now I don’t know what’s happening.
Three dots appear immediately.
Then:Oh honey. You’re in so much trouble.
Yeah.
I really am.
8
Corin
The clinic office is already warm when Amara walks in Tuesday morning. I’m reviewing contract files at the steel desk, but I look up the second I hear her footsteps.
She looks a lot better. The fever flush is gone. Her skin has that pale, normal color instead of the flushed red from yesterday. The dark circles under her eyes are lighter.
Still there, but lighter.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
She sets her canvas tote on the desk and pulls out her legal pad. “A lot better. Thank you for taking care of me yesterday.”
I shrug, uncomfortable with the gratitude. “You needed help.”
“Still,” she insists. “You didn’t have to stay all day.”
“Yeah, I did.” The words come out before I can stop them.
She blinks, then tucks hair behind her ear.
I’m conflicted again.
Always fucking conflicted around her.
Part of me wants to close the distance between us and kiss her until she stops thanking me for basic human decency.
The other part knows that’s exactly the kind of move that would wreck whatever fragile trust we’re building.
So I do neither.
Instead I tap the laptop screen. “We’ve got a town meeting this afternoon. Community hall.”
Amara’s attention shifts immediately. Lawyer mode activated. “What time?”
“Two o’clock,” I reply. “Feeling up to presenting the legal framework?”
She nods. “I’ll need to prep visual aids. Print handouts. Do we have a projector?”
“We do,” I confirm.
“All right,” she says. “Let’s get ready.”
