Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
When Mabel woke up Saturday morning, she saw a text from George letting her know that he’d called in help for the tree farm that day, since he wasn’t going to be able to make it out of bed.
That had alarmed her enough to wake her up fully, because she’d never known George to miss a day of work in his life.
She’d headed downstairs, feeding Rascal to get the fluffy cat out from underfoot before going to the kitchen to make a breakfast to-go box to bring to George.
Within an hour, she’d had fluffy biscuits, fresh local blueberry maple sausage links, a couple of poached eggs, and a thermos full of orange juice ready to take to his house.
She’d filled two more thermoses with homemade chicken soup for him to have later, as well, and she bundled up before carrying it all out to her silver sedan to head over to his house.
She’d thought about staying with him overnight the night before, to be there in case he needed anything, but George had insisted she go home to her own bed.
He’d been worried about getting her sick, and about whether or not she’d be comfortable and get enough sleep, with him coughing and snoring all night.
She’d been touched that he’d been so worried about her.
As grumpy as he was, he’d always been thoughtful, and that was one of the things that had made her fall for him in the first place.
It had also meant a long night of worrying about how he was managing on his own, though.
She didn’t think she’d slept much better at her own house, last night.
Mabel loaded everything into her car and made the familiar drive through Fir Tree Grove’s quiet streets to George’s house on the edge of town.
His neighborhood was older, with big trees along the streets and houses that were spaced out further, with more acreage around them.
Most of the houses were old colonials, with big porches and historical details that had been carefully preserved.
It was one of the neighborhoods that was on the historical register, and Mabel loved it.
The house was dark when she pulled into the driveway, which she took as a good sign—hopefully it meant George was still sleeping and getting the rest his body clearly needed.
She let herself in with her key, which still gave her a small thrill.
It was another one of those things that she’d thought she was past in her lifetime, having a key to a significant other’s house.
Another relationship milestone that she hadn’t thought she’d ever hit again.
The interior of the house was warm and cozy, with a hint of wood-burning fireplace scent hanging in the air.
There were Christmas decorations up, and Mabel walked over to plug in the Christmas tree lights, thinking it would be a nice surprise if George did get up to walk around at some point.
The house smelled of pine too, and she breathed it in, smiling.
She moved quietly through the house, not wanting to wake him if he was still sleeping.
She was familiar with George’s kitchen, so she popped the thermoses of soup into the refrigerator, which was empty enough to make Mabel roll her eyes affectionately, and then started to warm up his breakfast. While she was waiting on that, she went to find a tray that she could use to take the food to him in bed.
She knew he’d say something about her fussing over him, but she enjoyed it.
It was nice to have someone to fuss over again.
For years, she’d been contented with only taking care of herself, but she loved having a partner to dote on and spoil again. It fulfilled a part of her that she’d forgotten about, and brought her so much joy that she hadn’t even known she was missing.
She arranged the breakfast on a tray, putting the orange juice into one of his favorite mugs, and was just about to take it to him when she heard movement from upstairs: the soft creak of floorboards and what sounded like a coughing fit that made her chest tighten with sympathy.
Poor George. She hated having the flu, personally, and she wanted him to get well quickly.
As she got to the foot of the stairs, she saw him appear there, wrapped up in burgundy robe, his face paler than usual and flushed at his cheeks and throat, his graying hair and beard disheveled as if he’d just rolled out of bed.
Mabel could see he was holding onto the banister, and she clucked her tongue, heading up the stairs with the tray.
“You need to go back to bed,” she said firmly. “You’re clearly still very sick.”
“Mabel.” George’s voice was rough and hoarse. “You didn’t need to come so early. I told you I’d be fine.”
“George Lowery.” Mabel’s mouth set in a thin line. “You can barely stand up straight, and you’re worried about me getting up early? I’ve been awake since five anyway, fretting about you.”
Despite his obvious discomfort, George managed a weak smile. “Fretting about me? That’s a waste of perfectly good sleep.”
“It certainly is not,” Mabel said firmly, heading past him toward the bedroom. “Now come on, I’ve made you breakfast. You need to get some food in you if you’re going to beat this thing.”
George made a grumbling noise in the back of his throat but followed her.
The lack of argument only solidified Mabel’s realization that this flu was worse than she’d thought.
She waited for him to settle back into bed, and then set the tray over his lap, pointing at the mug of hot tea at one corner of it.
“That will help with congestion, and the orange juice is good Vitamin C. I know it’s hard to eat when you’re sick, but you need your strength. Eat up.”
She bustled around the room as he obeyed with a slight smile on his face, cleaning up tissues and straightening anything she could get her hands on. When she turned back around, she saw that George had drank some of the tea, and he looked like there was a little more color in his cheeks.
“This is delicious,” he said, gesturing at the plate of eggs and biscuits and sausages. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Good,” she replied without hesitation. “You deserve to be spoiled. And besides, taking care of you gives me something useful to do with all this nervous energy I have when you’re not feeling well.”
George gave her another smile. “I’m a lucky man.”
Mabel felt that familiar flutter in her chest, the same sensation she always got whenever George said something particularly sweet.
It was remarkable how this man could make her feel like a lovestruck teenager again, even when he was sick and miserable.
She never would have guessed he had a romantic side, but he’d proved her wrong many times over the last year.
“And I’m lucky too,” she said firmly. “Now, what else can I do? Do you have cough medicine? Lozenges?”
“I’m out of both,” George admitted. “And I have a prescription that needs to be picked up.”
Another flutter of worry went through Mabel’s chest at that. George was not the type to willingly let her go run errands for him. But she smiled, nodding firmly. “All right, then I’ll go grab those things, and some more orange juice. You eat every bite of that, and I’ll clean up when I get back.”
“Don’t you need to be at the store?” George frowned, and Mabel waved a hand.
“Vanessa can handle it all for a little while. I’ll be back before you know it.”
An hour later, she returned from running errands—a trip to the pharmacy for lozenges, cough medicine, and George’s prescription, to the grocery store for orange juice, and the post office to drop off some paperwork that she’d seen waiting to be mailed out for the farm.
When she came back upstairs, she saw that George was asleep, the breakfast tray mostly polished off and left by the bed.
She smiled to herself and quietly gathered up the dishes, retreating back downstairs. She did a quick wash and tidy up, cleaning the kitchen and living room enough to be presentable, and then surveyed it all with her hands on her hips, feeling satisfied.
It felt good to do something like this for George, intimate in a way that felt right for a deepening relationship.
These were the kinds of gestures that built a relationship, Mabel reflected.
Not grand romantic declarations or expensive gifts, but little things that showed how much the other person cared.
She left a note for him telling him to call her if he needed anything, and then grabbed her keys, heading back out into the cold.
As she drove, she saw the sign for Artisan Chocolates up ahead.
She knew she should probably go ahead and go straight to the toy shop, but she’d been craving sweets all morning.
The thought of some of Imogen’s peppermint bark made her slow down and find a spot to park, getting out into the brisk afternoon chill to go and get a treat for herself.
She could use something festive and indulgent, she thought, and that would be the perfect thing.
The store was packed when she walked in, the chime of the little bell over the door barely audible over the chatter of customers.
She saw Imogen behind the hot cocoa counter, shadows under her eyes, and Katie handing out bits of free samples to customers as she bounced from one side of the store to the other.
“Hi Mrs. Mabel!” she chirped, holding out a tray decorated with Christmas trees all around it. “Want some fudge? Today’s sample is maple sea salt or pumpkin.”
“Pumpkin, please,” Mabel said with a smile, accepting the sliver that Katie handed her. Imogen tried to keep Katie from doing this too often, but on a busy day like today, she was sure that Imogen hadn’t even had the time to try to shoo Katie into the back room.