After unfolding a throw blanket to wrap around my bare legs, I sit on the couch to wait. The throbbing in my temples is bad enough to keep me from drifting off. I don’t dare turn on the TV, and I didn’t think to grab a book. As I sit there, my gaze falls on the small stack of papers Hunter left on the table. A hot bolt of guilt strikes me through the gut; I shouldn’t have been so rude last night. He clearly put a lot of thought and work into suggestions to help the bakery, if the color-coded graphs are any indication. I should have at least let him show me what he came up with.
I’m debating grabbing the papers and looking them over when there’s a knock at the door.
“Hey,” I say softly as I let my mom in.
Her eyes are wide, roaming over my face as she follows me into the living room. “You look pale,” she says. “Are you chilling?”
“No. Just the sore throat and headache. I was probably a little warm from getting out of bed.”
Mom clearly doesn’t believe me since she lays her cool palm on my forehead. “Well, you don’t feel hot,” she agrees reluctantly.
A key scrapes in the front door lock, and I stiffen.
The door swings open, and Hunter walks in wearing his gym clothes, holding his water bottle, illuminated by the hall light I left on. He runs his hand through his bed-mussed hair, looking half asleep.
I must make a noise of frustration, because he halts halfway into the living room. When he sees meandmy mom, his eyes widen.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen with Farmor?” he asks.
“Nothing new happened with Farmor. That’s very kind of you to be worried, Hunter.” My mom’s smile is weary, worn thin by the last week. The circles under her eyes are even darker. Almost as dark as they were in my nightmare a couple of nights ago.
“Then, is everything okay?”
“Olivia’s sick,” Mom says.
When Hunter says, “Oh, okay ...” with a confused glance at my mom—probably wondering why someone in her mid-twenties needs her mommy when she gets a cold.
“Because of the immunosuppressants she has to take to keep her body from rejecting her heart, she can’t fight off infection like normal people. Every illness she catches could be fatal if not treated properly.”
At that, the blood drains from his face.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
I flush. “That’s notexactlytrue ...”
“What can I do to help?” Hunter asks. His gaze travels over my body, his face carefully neutral as he takes in the robe he’s already teased me for once and my long, bare—unshaven—legs. His eyes lift back to mine and hold my gaze for a beat too long; his scrutiny makes my stomach tighten. I hope Mom can’t see the blush staining my cheeks.
“I’m afraid to leave Livvy alone.” Her words snap us out of it, and we both turn to look at her. “But I really should get back to the hospital to check on her farmor. Is there any way ... ?” She trails off.
“What?” Hunter prompts.
“Wouldyoube willing to stay with her? Maybe even prepare the cold compress for her headache and give her the medicine she needs?”
“Mom.” I widen my eyes at her. “I’m notthatsick, and I can take care of myself. I’m twenty-five, not ten.”
“Could have fooled me in that robe.” Hunter quirks one eyebrow, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a smirk.
I pin him with a glare. “Okay, that isenoughfrom you about my robe!”
Mom has the audacity to laugh. “Oh, that old thing? It’s sentimental for her. Her best friend gave it to her when she was living in the hospital for—”
“Mom, Ipromisehe doesn’t care.” I grab the plastic bag out of her hands and give her a not-so-gentle push toward the door. “Thank you for bringing this over. Please let me know how Farmor is. And, Hunter, I can take my own medicine, so you can go on your run or whatever you were going to do.”
But Mom doesn’t budge, and her smile is gone. “You’re too pale, Livvy. We need to take your blood pressure and call Dr. Thorup.”
“No. It’s not even six. Don’t bother him. I’ll be fine if I can go lie down.” Iamstarting to feel dizzy, but I don’t dare admit it, or she’ll be driving me to the ER next. “I’ll rest for a few minutes and then take my Tylenol and make the compress.”
“I can help.” Hunter is silhouetted against the hall light, his eyes hooded in the shadows. “Just tell me what to do.”
