106. Courtney
Chapter 106
Courtney
My bladder wakes me up.
I climb out of bed, wondering if Sterling has been here.
But I’m too sleepy to think.
Another pill is pressed between my lips.
I take another sip of water.
Then a glass is held to my mouth, and I down something fruity and medicinal.
There’s a mechanical humming from somewhere in the cabin.
But Sterling tells me to go back to sleep.
So I do.
Something wakes me.
It sounds like a drill .
But the warmth filling the room feels so nice.
Sleep finds me again.
My eyes flutter open.
I stay still for a moment, taking stock of my body.
My head doesn’t hurt as much.
I swallow, and that feels better too.
I flex my fingers and toes.
My muscles ache, but that’s probably from staying in bed for so long.
I finally notice the bright daylight lining the curtains.
“Shit.” I groan, annoyed that I forgot to set an alarm for myself.
Guests are coming today, and I haven’t finished the cabins.
Rolling off the edge of the bunk, I marvel at the softness of the mattress while forgetting my legs are unsteady and nearly collapse to the floor.
I grip the edge of the bunk, keeping myself upright.
“Okay. A little slower.”
I take my time getting my balance before letting go.
The curtain over the doorway is pulled shut. Something Sterling must have done while he was here.
My cheeks heat thinking of him as I pull the curtain open.
It’s all a bit fuzzy, but I remember him checking on me. Giving me water and…
I sag against the wall.
How…?
When…?
Tears fill my eyes.
There’s a space heater in the middle of the floor. The source of the hum I heard earlier, filling the whole cabin with wonderfully warm air.
And…
A half laugh, half sob catches in my throat.
There’s a mini fridge .
A plain black one, on top of the new square table, tucked into the far corner.
It’s a folding table.
Nothing fancy.
But it’s strong enough to hold a mini fridge… and a microwave.
And the two exposed sides of the table have matching folding chairs.
Nothing fancy.
But sturdy enough to sit on.
I cross the room and open the fridge with trembling hands.
It’s stocked.
Deli meat and sliced cheese. Cans of soda. A jar of jelly. Some type of milk and short bottles of orange juice.
I close the fridge and slowly turn around.
On the counter, next to my kettle, is a pile of cold medication. Way too much. The evidence of a panicked shopping trip, buying every sort of decongestant, fever reducer, cough suppressant, and immunity booster in sight.
It’s unnecessary. Over the top. And the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.
I almost wish I still felt bad, that it was a real cold and not some twenty-four-hour thing, so I could use all this.
“Oh, Sterling,” I whisper.
Gratitude and guilt and wonder all crowd in around me.
My eyes tick over to the cupboard over the sink.
He must’ve looked in there.
Must’ve seen how little I had.
It’s hard to swallow, but not from illness.
I slowly step over to the sink and pull open the cabinet door.
My food shelf… is full.
Three stacks of microwavable soup.
A row of just microwave Asian noodle dishes.
Crackers and bread. Packets of flavored oatmeal and those little cups of fruit suspended in Jell-O.
It’s too much.
It’s way too much.
I’m stumbling to the door before I even realize where I’m going .
I have to find Sterling.
Have to tell him to take it all back.
A tear rolls down my cheek, and I tell myself it’s because I’m still not feeling one hundred percent, and not because this man is starting to mean more to me than he should.
It’s not because this man has somehow managed to flip my fortune around in a matter of one night.
I tug on the door handle, but the door doesn’t open.
I blink down at the matte black handle in my hand. And at the deadbolt above it.
He gave me a lock for my door.
Tears I can’t explain away drip down my cheeks, and I unlock the deadbolt.
The thud is solid.
The lock sturdy.
When I open the door, something falls onto my feet.
My clipboard.
Keeping a hand on the door, I bend down and pick it up.
There’s a new page clipped over the rest.
The cabins are ready.
Guests arriving at three.
Dinner at five.
Rest until then.
That’s an order, Cookie.
PS the deadbolt code is 5683
I clutch the clipboard to my chest.
And my heart thumps an extra beat for Mr. Black.