Chapter 5 Zale
FIVE
ZALE
I woke up and groaned. Had someone snuck into the room and jumped on my chest, then wrung my neck to finish me off?
My throat was raw, my head pounded, and when I tried to sit up, the room spun around. I collapsed back onto the pillow, trying to summon the strength to get out of bed. Of all the times to get sick, why now with Christmas looming?
It was 1:45 a.m. and the alarm was about to go off. I had fifteen minutes until I needed to leave for the bakery.
I could call or text Hawthorn and tell him I couldn't make it. He'd probably understand. But the thought of letting him down and leaving him to handle the Christmas rush alone, didn't sit right.
It was a cold. Many people didn’t have the option of staying home when they caught a cold. I could push through.
I dragged myself out of bed and pulled on layers of clothing before heading out into the freezing pre-dawn darkness. The walk to the bakery had never felt longer. Every breath burned my lungs, but I kept going.
When I reached the back door, I was shivering despite my coat.
Hawthorn sniffed when I walked in and furrowed his brow. Of course he could scent my sickness. It was a shifter trait. Not that shifters caught human ailments often, but due to some genetic quirk, my family were susceptible to colds and flu.
"You're sick."
“It’s a cold." I hung up my coat and my hands shook. "I'm fine to work."
"You look terrible."
"Thanks." I managed a weak smile. "That's exactly what every guy wants to hear." I avoided the mirror in the back room and made sure to wash my hands thoroughly.
Hawthorn didn't return my smile. "You should have stayed home."
He was right but I should have done a lot of things, one of which was not getting turned on by my sexy boss. Not that I was right at this moment because my chest was congested and there was an imaginary band tightening around my brow and giving me a headache.
"You need help with the orders." I tied on an apron. "I'm not leaving you to do everything alone."
He sighed. "Fine. You’re on light duty only. No heavy lifting. And if you feel worse, you tell me immediately."
"Deal."
I was doing okay for the first hour. I measured ingredients, prepped baking sheets, and kept my distance when he needed space. But the warm bakery combined with my fever was making everything fuzzy around the edges.
"Zale." Hawthorn's voice cut through the fog. "The flour."
I'd been measuring flour for the past how many minutes? And I'd lost count. The bowl in front of me was definitely too full.
"Sorry." I dumped some back. "I'll start over."
Hawthorn stopped what he was doing. "When did you start feeling sick?"
"This morning."
“Don’t fib. You haven’t been yourself for two days."
My wolf wondered who I’d been if I wasn’t me and I told him I’d explain later.
Hmmm. The last few days were a blur of early mornings and late nights. Maybe those walks in the freezing cold so early in the morning had finally caught up with me.
"I'm fine," I repeated, though my voice sounded weak even to my own ears.
"You're not."
I bent to get the bread out of the oven, but the room tilted sideways, and I grabbed the counter to steady myself.
A strong pair of hands caught me. Hawthorn's espresso scent assaulted my nostrils, even through the congestion, and my wolf perked up.
"That's it." His tone was firm. "You're done."
"I can keep working.” Did done mean finished for good?
"No." He steered me toward a stool. "Sit."
I obeyed because my legs weren't cooperating.
Hawthorn crouched in front of me with one hand on my knee to steady me. My wolf was excited about that though it barely registered in my fever-addled brain.
"You're running a fever. My family doesn’t catch colds, but I know enough that you shouldn’t be at work."
"But the orders."
"I'll handle them."
"But—"
"Zale." Despite me feeling lousy, his voice sent shivers through me which had nothing to do with my illness. "I'm taking you home. Don't argue."
"Okay," I whispered.
The truck was warm and I leaned my head against the window and watched the dark streets pass by. The lodge was only two blocks from the bakery so I could have walked, though I’d have more likely stumbled.
"You didn't have to close the bakery."
"I didn't close it. I locked the front and left a note, saying I’ll be back soon."
We pulled up in front of the Sleep Easy Lodge. Hawthorn followed me up the narrow stairs to my room and he swore under his breath when we walked in. The room was freezing. The radiator clanked uselessly in the corner, putting out barely any heat.
"How long has it been like this?"
"Not long after I moved in. It's fine because I use extra blankets."
"It's not fine." He was already gathering my clothes and toiletries. "You're coming to my place."
My fevered brain took a moment to process that. "Your place?"
My beast was doing a happy clappy dance as he called it. The movement made my body sway even more. But I was wary of sleeping in my boss’s apartment, the same guy that made my pulse race when he was close by or when I pictured him in my head.
"You know I live above the bakery. It's warm and has proper heating." He zipped up my duffel bag. "And before you argue, this isn't a discussion. My wolf won't let me leave you here sick and freezing."
I didn’t want to think too hard about whatever was driving his wolf’s protective streak, but my own beast was excited at us being in Hawthorn's den.
I nodded, too ill to form a sentence.
I didn’t remember the drive back. The next thing I knew, we were climbing the stairs and he opened the door to his apartment, it smelled like him and the bakery combined. The espresso and fresh bread aromas had my wolf settling despite my misery.
The space was small with an open kitchen and a worn couch that looked incredibly inviting. I spied a bedroom through a half-open door.
Hawthorn lowered me onto the couch and piled blankets around me before disappearing into the kitchen. Water ran and a cabinet door slammed shut. He returned with a glass of water and two pills.
“This is for the fever. Drink the whole glass."
I took the pills obediently. When I was ill, I liked people taking charge. Not that anyone had ever looked after me as Hawthorn was right now.
He sat on the coffee table across from me and was close enough that our knees almost touched. "When's the last time you ate?"
I tried to remember. "Yesterday? Maybe?"
"Ahhhh. You need to look after yourself." His tone was scolding but gentle. "I’m making soup. Don't even think about arguing."
I wasn't going to because I was too busy trying to process the fact that Hawthorn had brought me to his private space, his den. It was the place where he lived and slept when he wasn’t kneading dough.
As he busied himself in the kitchen, I studied my surroundings.
Baking books lined a shelf by the window.
A few framed photos sat on a side table of an older woman and there were some group shots that might have been from culinary school.
He was either close to the people in those photos or they’d been a positive influence in his life.
The couch was comfortable. Combined with the soft blankets, I was warm for the first time in days. The knowledge that Hawthorn was taking care of me, with his scent permeating everything, conspired to lull me to sleep.
"Zale." Hawthorn's voice was close to my ear. His warm breath billowed over me. "Soup's ready."
I forced my eyes open. He held a bowl of chicken soup that smelled incredible. It had to be homemade, and it contained chunks of vegetables and tender noodles floating in a rich broth.
"You made this?" My voice was hoarse and it hurt to speak.
"I'm a baker so it’s not a huge leap to cooking. I made it yesterday. He handed me the bowl. "Eat."
He sat in the armchair across from me while I ate. With each warm sip, the tightness in my chest relaxed its grip. The heat, care and the quiet presence of the man who’d taken me in was exactly what I needed.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" The question slipped out before I could think about it.
"You show up every morning without complaint and work harder than anyone I've ever hired. And you didn't call in sick even though you should have because you didn't want to let me down." He paused, his dark eyes focused on mine. "Why wouldn't I take care of you?"
I couldn’t help but be disappointed because he was talking about a boss and employee relationship. But that was what I wanted, wasn’t it? Over and over again, I’d told myself that we had to keep it professional between us and yet my heart and my beast were telling me something different.
"I don't want to be a burden."
"You're not." He spoke with such conviction that I believed him. "Now finish your soup and get some rest. I need to get back to the bakery, but I'll be up to check on you later."
He pressed his hand to my forehead and checked my temperature. I almost melted under his gentle touch and stopped myself from purring. My wolf huffed, saying wolves didn’t purr, but he enjoyed being skin to skin with Hawthorn.
“Your fever's still high," he muttered. "I'll bring more pills when I come back."
Hawthorn remade his bed with clean sheets and insisted I sleep there.
When he was gone, and I was alone in his apartment, surrounded by his scent, cocooned in the blankets and the lingering warmth of his concern, I closed my eyes, feeling more at home than I had in ages.
My wolf was convinced we were exactly where we belonged.
I fell asleep before I could tell him he was wrong.