"The—right. The measurements." He shook his head like he was clearing it. "The east wall. I measured it three times and my notes say three different numbers. I needed to verify."
We walked through the space together. I tried to focus on what he was showing me, but I kept noticing the way he was standing, always several feet away, always slightly upwind.
And the way he kept sniffing.
"Danny, are you okay?" I asked.
"Fine. Yeah. Just…" he cleared his throat, "allergies."
"In February?"
"Early spring. Happens every year."
It was a lie. I could tell. But I didn't push.
We finished the measurements, he was right, the numbers were off, and he made notes about what needed to be corrected.
"I'll have the crew fix it Monday," he said, still maintaining that careful distance. "And Naomi? You should maybe go home. You really don't look well."
"I'm fine."
"Your scent," He stopped. "Never mind. Just. Take care of yourself, okay?"
My scent? What about my scent? But he was already walking away, practically fleeing to his truck.
Weird.
By the time I got home, I was burning up. I drove with all the windows down despite the February chill, letting the cold air wash over my overheated skin. It didn't help. Inside the apartment, I cranked the AC and collapsed onto my bed. Just a quick nap. Just to shake off this headache and these cramps and whatever the hell was wrong with me.
I grabbed the t-shirt I'd worn home and pressed it to my face. Just for a minute until I felt better. I was asleep in seconds. Finally starting to feel better.
KIRA
When I came home, I found Naomi curled up in a ball in her bed, sweating despite the apartment feeling like an icebox. I’d figured one of us left open a window and I was on a hunt for it when I found her sweating like a whore in church who’d slept with the pastor and his wife was staring from the pulpit.
"Worry the gods," I muttered, pressing my hand to her forehead.
She was burning up.
"Nai. Wake up."
She groaned but didn't open her eyes.
"Naomi. You're sick. You need to wake up."
"Not sick," she mumbled. "Just tired."
"You're on fire. And why the hell is it so cold in here?" I checked the thermostat. Sixty degrees. "Did you turn on the AC?"
"Was hot."
"It's February. It's forty degrees outside and it feels colder here than out there. You can't be hot. Not this damn hot, anyway."
"I am." She burrowed deeper into the material she was holding. Was it that t-shirt she’d been wearing? "So hot. Make it stop."
I studied her. There was a flush on her cheeks, the way she was clutching that t-shirt, the sheen of sweat on her forehead despite the cold. I removed some of the clothes that she was wearing and saw relief on her face as her skin was exposed to the coolness.
"Why are you sleeping in the middle of the day?" I asked, taking off her socks.
