I also know that Xanax doesn’t typically come in a plastic baggie when doctors prescribe it. It’s none of my business, so I put it back in its spot and take out a couple of Tylenol, making sure to replace the bottle exactly where it was over the baggie.
When I come back into the living room, Allie is sitting up and inspecting the soup.
“It’s not poisoned,” I say, causing her to jump. “Here,” I handher the two pills and the glass of water. She arches a brow but takes them from me anyway.
“You have a fever,” I explain.
“How do you know?” She throws the pills back and takes a gulp of water.
“I felt your head.”
“While I was sleeping?” she asks, an accusatory tilt to her voice.
“Yep.”
She snorts, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“What?”
“Just adding somnophilia to your list of transgressions. You’re racking up quite the rap sheet.”
“Is that—” I touch my thumb to the side of her cheek and her smile widens—it’s so slight, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. “It is. You’re smiling. This is worse than I thought. You stay here. I’m going to call an ambulance.” I pretend to stand up, but she grabs onto my arm, pulling me back down. I fall onto her chest and when I lift my head, there’s no rage in her eyes, no storm, no turmoil. Just a bright, beautiful calm. Like the moment it stops raining and the world is quiet. So quiet I can almost hear the flutter of her eyelashes against her glasses. Then, just as fast as it started, the spell breaks and she shoves me onto the floor.
“Asshole,” she mutters. “What’s the deal with the soup, anyway?”
I throw a hand on the couch, using it to lift myself up from the floor. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe. She used to make it for me whenever I was sick.”
Allie looks at it again with all the skepticism of someone sitting down to dine with their mortal enemy, but she still lifts the spoon and takes a tentative sip. Her eyes close and she has that same look she had when she ate the pasta at the inn. Like she’s committing every flavor and texture to memory. She hums as she puts the spoon back in the bowl and takes another sip.
“Lemon?” she asks.
“Yep.”
“There’s something else. Something earthy.” She takes another spoonful. “Like…thyme?” she guesses.
“Yeah. How did you know?”
“It’s what I do.”.
She brings the bowl closer to her and continues eating. “It’s…pretty good,” she admits. “Your grandmother knows what she’s doing.”
“Knew,” I correct her. “She died.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She puts the spoon down and wipes her mouth with the napkin.
“Thanks. It was a few years ago.”
I pick up the glass of water and hand it to her, hoping to change the subject. “You need to stay hydrated.”
She rolls her eyes as she takes the glass. “First Nate. Now you sound like Luke,” she mutters, but takes a sip anyway.
She thinks it’s an insult, but my heart warms at the thought. Anyone who has ever met Luke Collins knows he’s a protector. There isn’t a line he wouldn’t cross to make sure Emory is safe and healthy, and it’s only escalated since they found out she’s pregnant. I used to think I could be that for Allie. God knows I did everything in my power to protect her in the gazebo that night. The night Nate almost killed Emory’s ex in front of all of us. The night she cried on my shoulder and told me about her childhood. The night she begged me to make her forget.
“It’s going to be okay,” I reassure her as thick tears run down onto my shirt.
“How do you know that?” she sniffles. “She hates me.”
“She’s angry. A lot just happened in the span of ten minutes.”
