My eyes snap open, revealing Fox hovering above me. I scowl. “What are you talking about?”
He shakes his head as Duke drops a paw on my chest, bringing my attention to the fact I’m horizontal on the sofa in the living room of the main house.
How did I get here? I was shopping for lamb and listening to Rosa reminisce about Fox and his childhood sweetheart, and how she’s suddenly single and waiting for his call. Then… my mind is blank.
Helen’s face pops over the top of the sofa to join her grandsons. “Gave us quite the scare, Cleo. You are no good to me if you’re unconscious.”
“I passed out?”
Fox rolls his eyes. “Yep, straight into my arms. Like a fainting damsel.”
“Like a fairytale,” Helen says with a smile.
I grimace. This is why I don’t socialize. “Never seen the Wednesday morning shoppers of Red Lake look so excited,” Fox agrees.
“I wanted to call the doctor, but he stopped me,” Helen says with a pointed look at Fox. “He claims he knows what’s wrong with you.”
“It’s not rocket science, Gran. She didn’t eat her breakfast.”
“I did, eggs and toast with you guys.”
“No, you made eggs and toast, then gave yours to Duke.”
The dog in question tilts his head in agreement. Oh wait, yes, he’s right. Shit, that was really stupid.
“Sit up slowly,” Fox advises.
I do, experiencing a wave of dizziness as I right myself. Fox hands me a glass of orange juice. “Drink that first,” he instructs. I take a few sips, my stomach twists. Damn it, that happens when I’ve not eaten. I force a few extra mouthfuls, fighting the burn in my throat. Next, he hands me a small brown paper bag.
“What’s this?” I wonder, peeking inside and getting a whiff of the freshly baked goodness.
“Chocolate croissant.”
I blink at him. “For me?”
“Don’t get excited. I got it for myself, but you need it more.”
I try passing the bag back to him even as my hands shake. “I can’t take it, it’s yours.”
He rolls his eyes. “You can and you will.”
“You have work to do, and a meal to cook,” Helen agrees.
I take a bite of the flaky treat and it melts on my tongue. Fucking hell, that’s better than an orgasm.
Helen nods like she is satisfied and stalks out of the room, leaving me alone with Fox. He slides on to the sofa next to me, sprawling to encompass three-quarters of the four-seater sofa.
“You have to start taking care of yourself,” he grinds out.
I dart a look at him as I swallow the last bite. “I missed one meal. It’s hardly neglect.”
He skewers me with a look. He sees too much—like his grandmother—but isn’t afraid to call me out on my bullshit. If I try explaining to Helen, she will talk me out of it.
“I brought the ingredients back from the store,” Fox says. “So you can still make this lamb dish.”
“Thank you. I don’t remember what happened.”
“You had a panic attack.” I frown at him. I have zero recollection of any panic attack. “You were by the flowers.”
