5. Nothing Easy About You #3
“You and Jacob didn’t discuss my contract and my return to play?” I sound bitter, and once again I’m not keeping my emotions in check.
Usually this is not a problem for me. But whether it’s the heat, the events of the day knocking me off-balance, or just Josie, I’m cracked wide open.
“He seemed more concerned about you,” she says softly. “Not your contract. And normally, no—we don’t discuss you. I make it my business to know as little about Jacob’s clients as possible.”
I almost ask, What about his friends? but manage to keep at least this question locked up tight.
“You want a grand tour?”
“Actually,” she says, a yawn mangling the word. “I think I need water and a quick nap. Tour later.” She yawns again.
“A nap? It’s almost dinnertime.”
“Are you going to tell me when I can and cannot nap?” she asks.
“Follow me. If you’re serious about staying even when I’m telling you to leave, this will be your room.”
The hallway leading to the cottage’s two bedrooms is tiny with both of us crammed in here. I step back, gesturing toward the open guest room door with one of my crutches.
The guest bedroom is sparsely furnished with a brass bed, dresser, and a bedside table. I wish I’d done something to update the room, but at least I know the housekeepers washed the sheets recently.
Josie wheels her suitcase next to the dresser and then picks up a book I hadn’t noticed.
Her lips curve into a smile as she holds it up to me.
A shirtless man and a woman with a very low-cut dress are locked in a passionate embrace, their hair blowing in a fictional wind.
I can’t picture Uncle Tom reading this, and I have no idea where it came from.
“Not mine,” I say quickly.
“Of course not,” she says. “I’m sure paranormal romance is more your speed. Wolf shifters, dragons, and all that. You just left this here because you want to share your love of steamy Regency romances with guests, right?”
I frown. “I don’t know what paranormal romance is. I certainly don’t read it. And I don’t have guests.”
“With your attitude I’m sure you don’t.”
“I don’t have an attitude.”
“Okay,” she says cheerfully.
“I don’t .”
Josie turns the book toward me, cover facing out. “Will you require a bedtime story as part of my services?”
“ No .”
The idea of Josie, curled up next to me, reading, almost makes my heart explode.
“But this looks like the perfect book to inspire good dreams and good sleep,” she teases.
I am not someone who blushes, but I feel heat creeping up my neck. “My sleep is fine.” Needing to change the subject, I say, “The sheets are clean.”
She sets the book down and wanders to the window.
This room has the best view in the house, facing the water.
It’s the room and the bed I grew up sleeping in, long summers spent waking to diamonds of light on the water.
When I moved in last month, I chose the other room.
It felt a little strange sleeping in Tom’s room.
But it would have felt even stranger to sleep where I always did.
I was afraid one morning I’d wake with hope, forgetting he wasn’t in the other room.
I’m glad Josie will get to wake up with the water view.
She glances around the room once more. “None of this decor looks like you. Did you buy the house fully furnished or something? Is it a rental?”
“No.” I clear my throat, ready to tell her it was my uncle’s house. But then I don’t. “What kind of decor would you expect me to have?” I ask, curious.
Josie tilts her head. “I guess I don’t know. But not this.”
I only realize I’m sagging against the doorframe when Josie’s gaze narrows in on me. First she scans my face, then darts a look down at my boot. She doesn’t miss much.
I wish she did.
“Stop,” I say, the word coming out harsher than I mean it to. I sweep a hand across my forehead, wiping away the sweat.
Her eyes snap up to meet mine. “Stop what?”
“Looking at me like I’m something broken you need to fix.”
She holds up both hands. “Not trying to fix you. Pretty sure that’s way beyond my skill set.”
I snort. Even though she’s making light of things, it’s the truth.
“But at some point, if I’m going to stay,” she continues, “I will need the details on your injury and will need to talk to your doctor about—”
“You’re not staying.”
She sighs, then places her fists on her hips, drawing up her shoulders and a serious expression to match. She’s clearly so exhausted that the look is almost comical. “Look. I don’t want to be here. You obviously don’t want me here.”
I say nothing.
“But my idiot brother seems to think you do need me here. You look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s not an insult; it’s a fact.”
“Thanks again.”
“Based on the little I’ve seen, you need support right now. Maybe not a live-in nurse who specializes in strep throat and skinned knees. But someone . You have to know isolating yourself like this is counterproductive to recovery. You do want to recover, yeah?”
“Yes,” I say.
The word leaves my mouth, sounding and feeling strange. Not just because I’m not sure it’s true, but because I’m suddenly lightheaded.
What was the question?
I really need to sit. Or lie down. Heat pulses through me. Sweat drips steadily down my spine. I’ve got to get the air-conditioning looked at.
If not for me then for Josie.
I squint at the thermostat, but the numbers swim. Definitely broken.
“Then stop making this harder on yourself,” Josie says, but I’m no longer certain what we’re talking about. I nod anyway, my head suddenly an anvil atop my noodle neck.
“What’s the bathroom situation?”
I blink away the sweat dripping into my eyes. Focus, Wyatt. Bathrooms...bathrooms...
“There’s only one,” I manage, my voice thick and my mouth dry.
“Wonderful,” Josie mutters, looking back toward the window and the water beyond.
My vision has gone hazy. Swaying, I almost lose my balance and just keep myself from collapsing in a boneless heap. The heat is suddenly unbearable.
My body is lava. No—magma.
I’m beyond grateful when Josie yawns again and starts to slump. “Okay. Well, we’ll revisit this thrilling conversation when I wake up.”
I barely manage to scurry back when she steps forward to grab the doorknob. Her eyes are half lidded as she says, “Goodnight, Wyatt.”
“It’s still afternoon,” I say, and as she closes the door in my face, I can hear her laughter just beyond.
It’s the last thing I hear from her as I shu?e toward my room, where I plan to collapse into bed.
But the floor feels wiggly. So do my legs. Like I’m walking on the deck of a boat.
Something is wrong. Am I feverish? I almost call out to Josie, but I tell myself it’s just the air-conditioning. When did I last eat? I haven’t been sleeping well. It’s probably just exhaustion. And an HVAC problem. I’m fine.
I’m not fine. I need to stop and rest. When did this hallway get so long? I’m trapped in a funhouse mirror. Sweat rolls down my back.
Unable to take another step, I slump against the wall and puddle onto the floor.
Just a tiny nap.
No—not here. I’ll crawl to my room if I have to. I try to drag myself there.
My fingers brush the doorframe, but I’m not going to make it.
Even my eyeballs feel hot as they fall closed, and my last thought is that I need to wake up before Josie sees me like this.
“Wyatt?” Josie’s voice is suddenly very close.
I open my eyes. When did I shut them?
I’m lying on the floor in the hallway and it’s dark. Is it night?
“M’okay,” I mumble.
Something cool touches my face. A hand. Josie’s hand.
Josie is touching me.
I shiver.
“Wyatt, you’re burning up.”
“’S broken.”
“What’s broken?”
“The AC.”
“No,” her sweet, soft voice says. “It’s not. You’ve got a fever.”
“Broken,” I insist.
“Stubborn,” she murmurs. “Why didn’t you call for help? You’re barely two feet outside my door.”
Her hand starts to move away from my cheek. I gather the strength to lift my own heavy hand, covering and holding hers there.
“You’re cool,” I say. “Feels good.”
She sighs. “We need to get you to the hospital.”
“You’re a nurse. You can fix me. You handle lice.” She laughs at this. I squeeze her fingers, still pressed to my cheek. “No hospital.”
A pause, and my eyes flutter shut. Even my eyeballs are hot.
“No promises. Did you have surgery? I’m concerned this could be some kind of infection.”
“It’s not an infection.” Probably. “No hospital. Sick of that place.”
A long pause. “I could try to get your fever down first,” she says, and I can hear the reluctance in her voice. “But I’m taking you in the morning if I don’t see improvement.”
“I’ll be good. I’m easy.”
A soft chuckle, and I lean my face into her hand shamelessly. Nuzzling into her cool palm.
“There’s nothing easy about you, Wyatt. Not a single thing.”