"Alright. I need cold water and to lay down. Do you want to come inside?"
And then Eloise Willow and an unnamed grey cat with a striped tail made their way into the cabin with the windows so large she wouldn't feel penned in. Taylor had left a thick cream blanket on the couch with a note.
I hope you feel safe here.
-Taylor
And she had the thought as she drifted into a hazy sleep next to her new cat and feeling warm and protected that he had no idea that in a way, he had just left her a small love letter.
21. Headaches and Cures
An arm draped in white moved through the air as sparkles and a flash of smoke poofed from the fire that was crackling so brightly against the night. She could make out five other people, maybe she knew them, but their faces were blurred like clay that a sculptor had smudged with their hands. There was something, some kind of chanting, and it sounded ominous. Asmell hit her; bergamot and dust. And then the woman in the white flowing dress turned her head and said something, words she couldn't decipher. Her face was clear, a familiarity that was small but she couldn't place her. Short brown hair and pretty eyes that would be called beautiful if they didn't have a glint of anger in them. And maybe something a little more, something deeper like evil. Her smile was unkind but excited. Someone said her name.
He said her name.
Heart leaping and panic engaged, she dragged in thick air that had that cloying scent. It dispersed through her until it coated her tongue and throat; a thick layer of dust over too-hot citrus. Eloise coughed and gagged and spit on the ground. Before her nestled in the dirt and spring grass was a silver chain holding a silver heart, but as she bent down to grab it a knocking sound jolted her.
The most decadent waking of the day pulled Eloise from her sleep. And while her head was full, her tongue felt thick. She was fairly certain she was going to lose everything currently in her stomach, but she breathed a sigh of relief at the sight in front of her. She sat up and put a hand to her head in a groan as she took in the dawn laying itself out in a proud curtsy of golden light and fog-covered grass that caught the rays of the sun in ethereal streaks.
Barely visible was the glass, and what she saw was an expanse of green grass with scattered bluebonnets, bunches of golden forsythia and a couple of still-growing oak trees being brought to life by the sun. The river rolled lazily, cutting its snakelike body through the earth and though her body was in turmoil from the night before, her soul felt calm.
The knocking from her dream came again and the front door opened as she turned her head, closing one eye and groaning,when Taylor walked in. He had coffee in one hand and a white paper bag in the other.
"Hey, I thought you might need a little pick-me-up," he said with a smile. "No offense, but you look pretty rough."
"I am going to pretend you stopped at 'pretty', and I will take that coffee immediately," her voice scratched out while reaching out a hand, still having a hard time opening her eyes fully. She felt hot and sticky and made a promise to herself she would not look in a mirror to confirm that.
"I haven't been drunk in a decade. Did getting drunk get worse since my hiatus?"
"I think it's more the age than the actual act of getting drunk that changes it," he replied with a smile. "Although, who knows? The amount of chemicals they put in our food has probably quadrupled in the last long decade," he shrugged.
"You just, very adeptly, stepped around saying I'm getting old."
He laughed, the sound punching her temples. "You're not getting old."
He sat on the cedar coffee table across from her and pulled out an almond croissant as she took her first sip.
"This is so terrible. Where did you get this?" Her face was pinched in a grimace.
"Michelle's. His croissant game is unparalleled. His coffee is crap," he replied with a smirk that deepened his dimple. "But don't tell him."
"You do not need to tell me not to tell a French man his coffee is crap," she replied. "We could start a war."
His smile dimpled one cheek as he watched her grimace and sip. He watched her force down caffeine like someone looking at a piece of art that has taken them captive.
And then he remembered himself and cleared his throat as he looked down at the flaky croissant in his hand.
"I want you to know if you stay here, I won't typically just pop in like this. I wouldn't intrude like that. But this morning seemed like a dire situation in need of coffee and pastries."
"Mmm. Yes," she agreed with a groan. "And gentle, hungover reminder that this is your house. I'm the intruder." Then she tilted her head, which she regretted and righted it. "Wait, how did you know I would need this?"
His pause made her worry.
"Yeah, so Carol Weatherby got pictures sent to her late last night and she brought them in."
A sinking feeling filled Eloise, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol.
"Show me."
