As we waited for the thermometer to do its thing, Lookah wandered into the room and climbed in bed, curling up next to me. His warmth might have added to mine, but I couldn’t resist the extra cuddle time no matter how hot I was.
I didn’t miss the thin line drawn across Zach’s lips when the thermometer beeped or the way his smile made my insides flare.
I might not like being treated like a baby, but I hadn’t had anyone look after me for ages. Hell, I hadn’t had any human contact in years, since Wyatt ditched me. This—all of this, Zach in my house, cooking for me, tending to my needs—might be foreign after such a long time on my own, but so dearly missed.
“Woah,” Zach let out and blinked several times. “A hundred and two? You need a doctor.”
I rolled my eyes and sat up.
“I don’t need anyone. I need to get up.”
I tried to put my legs on the floor, but Zach was in the way, and he didn’t move.
“You do not!” Zach snapped, pushing my legs back.
“Your concern is sweet, really, Zach. I appreciate it, but it’s a busy day and I need to get on with it.”
I tried to get up again and once more I was blocked.
“Dare, don’t be stubborn! A fever means it’s a rest day.”
“Really?” I raised an eyebrow and stared right at him. “Do you take the day off when you have a fever at the bakery?”
“Well…” he mumbled. “I haven’t had a fever yet. But if I did, I would. I’d have to for others’ safety as much as my own.”
“Why don’t I buy that?” I smirked.
Zach stared me down for a moment before he pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes.
“I don’t have a bakery anymore, so it’s a moot point.”
“But I still have a farm, so I need to go.”
Zach put his hand to my chest, and I caught my breath as if I’d been punched in the gut. I hated myself. I hated how much a simple touch could send my heart into a frenzy and my mind reeling. How in a mere instant I could forget how to speak, how to walk, how to even think. All thanks to a single touch.
“Sit your ass down and stop being a baby. You need to rest. I won’t repeat myself,” he said in an intensely sharp tone I’d never heard from him before. “I’m gonna call a doctor. Don’t you dare disobey me while I’m not looking.”
I licked my lip and after a moment of being stared down, I nodded.
“C-call Warren. His buddy is a doctor,” I said and offered him my phone.
He took it from me, and I didn’t miss how his gaze flickered and the bossiness he’d presented moments ago vanished.
“Okay,” he answered and walked out of the room only to walk back in with a tray. “Silly me. Forgot your breakfast.”
He set it down on my lap and I looked at the contents, which included an oatmeal bowl with fruit and honey, a croissant, and some freshly-squeezed orange juice. I felt a deep rumble in my core as I ate the breakfast he’d prepared for me. A deep rumble that had nothing to do with my cold and everything to do withhim.
“Any other symptoms?” Ari asked me half an hour later when he’d arrived with Warren.
I shook my head.
This farce had lasted long enough. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d worked through a cold. I was still fine. People like me didn’t take days off. We didn’t have rest days. We couldn’t. It wasn’t feasible.
“It’s just a fever,” I said.
“It’s not just a fever,” Warren said.
“How would you know? Why don’t you let the doctor speak?” I turned to Ari.
