Chapter Twenty-Three: Soup & Honey
Caleb
I woke with the uncomfortable certainty that I had missed something important. I lay there longer than usual, staring at the ceiling, replaying small details I should have paid attention to sooner. The way Kitty had waved off concern without really meeting anyone’s eyes. How she had been getting more stressed and more tired as the Winter Carnival went on.
I had been so busy measuring my own reactions that I had missed the cost she was paying.
By the time I got out of bed, I had made a decision.
I moved through my apartment on autopilot, gathering things without overthinking it. Cold medicine, throat lozenges, honey from the kitchen. I put a note on the music shop door that I was closed for the day and didn’t feel guilty about it. Stopping at the local café down the street, I picked up two different kinds of soup, hoping Kitty would like one of them.
The SnowDrop Inn was quieter than I expected when I arrived. The lobby smelled faintly of coffee and pine cleaner, the kind of clean that suggested someone had tidied recently.
I hesitated, wondering what I should do.
“You’re Kitty’s boyfriend,” a matter of fact voice said.
I turned to see Meri approach from the hallway. She dumped a fat book with a colorful cover and curling cover corners indicating it was well read, on the lobby desk before tilting her head to study me.
“Caleb Green. We met a couple of days ago when we were all planning the Winter Carnival. I was hoping to see Kitty,” I mentioned.
“I don’t think she’s feeling well,” Meri commented.
“I brought soup and supplies,” I replied.
“She’s upstairs in our apartment, which is door twenty,” Meri told me. “I have a question. What is it like to be famous?”
“In my experience, it’s not great,” I honestly told her.
“That’s what I was thinking.” Meri nodded, one finger tapping the thick book. She refocused on me. “That soup is getting cold. You should go see Kitty.”
Not sure what else to say to that, I nodded then went upstairs to search for door twenty.
Kitty opened the door on the second knock. She looked smaller than she had the night before, wrapped in an oversized sweater that swallowed her hands. Her hair was pulled back in a way that suggested minimal effort, and her cheeks were flushed.
“You didn’t have to come,” she said, voice hoarse but firm.
“I wanted to,” I replied.
She studied me for a moment, then stepped aside without comment.
The apartment was small, with the kitchen and living room crowded into the space. There was a small hallway which I guessed led to the bathroom and bedroom. Someone had blankets and a pillow on the couch with a suitcase beside it. There were books, magazines, and dishes drying in a dishrack. It was cozy.
I set the bag down on the small table and started unpacking quietly. She watched me arms folded, expression caught somewhere between gratitude and irritation.
“I’m fine,” she said, as if reading my thoughts.
“I didn’t say you weren’t,” I commented.
She huffed a weak laugh and sank down onto the mattress. “You brought half the pharmacy.”
“I brought the useful half.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was no real heat behind it.
“Do you prefer chicken noodle or vegetable soup?” I questioned.
“Both.” Kitty grabbed a couple of bowls and spoons from the cupboard, bringing them to the table. “I like mixing them.”
