Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
I’M KNOCKING ON DEATH’S DOOR.
Blair
Lily
How are you feeling?
Me
I’m knocking on death’s door.
Lily
Is this my dramatic best friend, or my serious best friend?
Me
Both.
Lily
Do you have soup?
Me
No. And I can’t even think about food right now or I will be sick again.
Lily
Noted. Well, I love you. Go to sleep.
Me
Love you too .
I can’t remember the last time I was ever this sick.
I wish I was exaggerating when I told Lily I felt like I was dying.
When I woke up this morning, it wasn’t terrible. I felt drained, but thought it was because I didn’t sleep well. I was tossing and turning all night long. I didn’t want to miss going for my run, so I pulled it together, put my big girl pants on, and hit the road.
Only to have to turn around not even five minutes in because I thought I was going to vomit on the side of the road.
Spoiler alert: I did.
Right next to the beat-up Barlow Drive street sign.
I wanted to sit down and wait for a passing car to take me home. That’s how shitty I felt. I didn’t even think my body would make it another five minutes to get home.
As soon as I got back, I stripped out of my running clothes and replaced them with an old pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt before making my home on the couch for the entire day. Only time I got up was to get sick. Not like I had much inside of me after the first two times.
I can’t sleep because when I close my eyes the room spins.
I can’t eat because it just comes right back up.
I can’t read because trying to focus on the words induces a headache.
The worst of it all is the guilt I feel for calling out of work and leaving Lily alone to tend to the bakery. I know she said she could handle it—she always did before she hired me—but I hate the idea of missing work.
Reginald barks on the floor next to me, lifting his head toward the front door. I follow his gaze, and standing on the other side of the glass doors is Griffin with a bag in his hand. He stares at me through the glass, unmoving. He doesn’t knock or lift the bag. He just stands there, and he looks…distraught.
“Go away,” I shout, pulling one of the many pillows out from under my head and covering my face. “I have germs and you’re going to get them,” I add, hoping it’s loud enough for him to hear through the door.
I hear the click of the door opening but refuse to remove the pillow from my head. I can’t let him see me like this. I probably smell like vomit, my hair is full of knots, and I know I look white as a ghost.
Oh my god, what if I puke on him?
“Go away,” I repeat, my tone much softer.
“I heard you were sick.” His voice sounds so close as if he’s standing right over me.
“I’m warning you, Griffin. You’re going to catch my germs.”
“I don’t care.”
I remove the pillow from half my face, exposing only my eyes to him.
That’s when I’m met with his piercing gaze standing over me as I lie there—vulnerable and not feeling like myself at all. The last time I saw him was karaoke night, where I felt bold, confident, and beautiful in front of him. I don’t feel that right now.
I feel sick and small.
I feel like I might break and cry at any moment from lack of sleep.
Griffin crouches down next to me, and Reginald rushes up to him, placing both paws on his broad legs and reaching his head up to offer him some face kisses.
To my surprise, Griffin places a hand on Reginald’s head, petting him and greeting him by allowing my dog to soak his cheek with dog licks. I’m thankful for the pillow covering my mouth because right now it’s open in shock.
For a man who hates dogs, he’s being super nice to Reginald.
“Down,” I tell Reginald, and he listens. He backs up and circles himself a few times before curling into a ball on the floor by my feet.
“He’s fine,” Griffin says, looking from him and back to me. “Are you okay? ”
Three simple words; and the dam behind my eyes is ready to explode.
“No,” I admit. “I want to die.”
He reaches for the pillow and my hold on it tightens, but it’s no use because there isn’t a single ounce of energy in my body to fight it. Griffin takes the pillow and tosses it at my feet. I attempt to hide my face in the other pillow under me, but he stops me when his hand comes up to cup the side of my face, his eyes looking at me as if he’s memorizing my every feature.
Even sick, he’s looking at me in a way that sends tingles up my spine.
“Don’t do that,” he whispers, brushing the hair out of my face.
I almost ask “ Don’t do what? ” but I remember what I just told him.
A single tear breaks free, dripping on my pillow before I blink the rest away. “I don’t feel so good.”
“I know.”
My eyes flutter closed, while my heart beats so hard in my chest causing me to feel hot all over. I can’t tell if it’s from my fever or Griffin being here, caring about me in a way no one ever has before. My sister has taken care of me more times than I can count, but with my ex-husband, I can’t even count on one hand the times he’s been there for me when I was sick. Even if all the times before this didn’t feel as bad as this, he was never there.
The thought alone makes me want to break out in a full sob.
I refuse to do that in front of Griffin.
It’s bad enough he’s seeing me like this, at my worst.
I open my eyes and he’s still staring at me, assessing me.
“Why are you here?” I ask, my voice thick with emotion.
He stands, reaching for the same bag he had in his hands before. “I brought over some stuff to make chicken noodle soup.”
“Joke’s on you. I can bake, but I can’t cook.” I huff out a laugh. “Nor do I have the energy to do so. ”
“I didn’t say you were making it,” he replies, making his way to the kitchen. “You’re going to lie there and try to sleep while I make the soup.”
It’s almost laughable that he thinks I can fall asleep with him taking over my small space.
I track his movements and that’s when I notice there’s something different about him. I scan him from head to toe and realize it’s his clothes. A new side of Griffin. He’s wearing light gray sweatpants and a solid black T-shirt that hugs every muscle on his upper body. And, of course, his signature backward baseball cap.
Dammit.
He’s dressed the most casual I’ve ever seen him, only making me want to curl up next to him. To let him hold me and take away the pain of this sickness. Not that it would work, but I bet it would feel so good to have his arms around me, ensuring me I’m not actually dying here.
Even if I were, what a way to die.
I reposition myself on the couch so I can watch him move around the kitchen, but the sudden movement startles something in my gut. I leap from the couch and run past Griffin in the kitchen to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.
There’s nothing left in me! Why the hell am I still dry heaving?
The door to the bathroom opens, but I don’t look. “Turn around, please,” I beg, face in the toilet. “Please, just get out.”
He says nothing, but I hear the door close. I let out a relieved sign into the toilet that he actually listened to me while my hands rest on the seat before letting my eyes fall closed.
Griffin’s fingertips brushing along both of my shoulders in unison startles me. He pulls the hair out of my face and gathers what little I have in one hand, while the other rubs my back in slow, steady circles.
I choke out a cry; the sound echoing in the toilet.
“Shhh,” he whispers. “You’re okay. I got you.”
I lift my head now that the nausea is passing. I lean my body back to sit on my heels, but Griffin’s hard body is there. I melt into him without a second thought. His arms fall around me, holding me, keeping me up when I feel like breaking.
“Griffin?”
“Yeah?”
“Why are you here?” I ask again, resting my head back on his shoulder. “I thought you were avoiding me this past week.”
He releases a sigh, angling his head over my shoulder so he can see me. The move forces me to turn my head to face him. We sit there for one…two…three heartbeats. He drops his gaze to my lips for a beat then back up to my eyes. There’s no way in hell he wants to kiss me at this moment after I just dry heaved in the toilet.
“I don’t know why I’m here,” he admits.
My eyes close, but I don’t turn away from him.
His hand comes up, holding the side of my face in the most intimate way. I lean into his palm on instinct, wanting this feeling to never go away. It’s a small move that only confirms everything I’ve been thinking about him for so long. Feelings I’ve been denying.
I want to believe it’s the lack of sleep or the fever forcing me to think this way. But it’s all him and the way he’s caring for me.
The way he showed up for me.
“But I can’t stay away from you no matter how much I try,” he continues.
My eyes open. The corner of his lip curves up the slightest bit.
“You care about me, huh?” I smirk.
“More than I wanted to, sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head as if he doesn’t even believe he’s feeling this way too.
I don’t know what to even say back to that.
This isn’t what I came to Bluestones Lakes for.
This wasn’t my plan.
It’s a twist I’m content with if Griffin keeps looking at me the way he is now, despite how much of a mess I am .
Realization hits me, and I quickly bring my hand up to cover my mouth. He rears his head back in confusion. “I need to brush my teeth. Oh my god,” I say muffled behind my hand, and scramble out of his hold. “This is so embarrassing. That probably smells so bad. I’m sorry.”
I stand and make my way to the sink, putting the toothpaste on the brush before bringing it to my mouth. Lifting my head to look at myself in the mirror and now I want to cry all over again because I can’t believe how bad I really look.
But Griffin takes his place behind me, watching my every move like he refuses to take his eyes off me. Staring at me through the reflection while I brush my teeth, and I can’t stop staring at him either. He puts his hands in the pockets of his sweats, and I swear there’s a smile on his features. It’s just too damn small to even make out if it’s real or not.
I spit into the sink.
Why is brushing teeth so unladylike?
“That was really gross,” I say into the sink. “Sorry you had to see that.” I stand and keep forward, looking at him again through the reflection.
“Nothing gross about it. You’re brushing your teeth.” He shrugs.
I turn around to face him fully.
“Feel at least a little better from that?” he asks.
I inhale and exhale slowly, trying to see if the nausea rips through me again at the mention of it. “I think…I’m okay.”
He nods. “Let’s try to get some food in your system.”
He walks out of the bathroom, and I follow him into the kitchen space. He goes directly for the stove, where he already had everything thrown into a giant boiling pot. He must have had everything pre-cut and ready to throw on the stove before he came here, or he’s just really that good at making soup.
The smell hits my senses, and I expect to feel sick, but I don’t.
I feel everything but sick with Griffin here taking care of it .
I don’t know what his intentions are. Maybe he’s just being a friendly neighbor.
My heart can’t seem to stop believing that this could be leading to something more, though.
I’ve learned I really enjoy his company.
From him helping me with my deck, to having dinner at his house, and the out of this world orgasm he gave me at the bar. Each instance has been different, but good. Not to mention the way he listens to me and understands what I want, the way he makes me laugh even when he can’t laugh himself, and the way he looks at me—all these things are leading my heart to feel something for this man standing in my kitchen.
“Thank you,” I tell him, taking a place next to him at the stove.
He looks at me while he stirs the pot but remains silent as he assesses my features. I can feel the energy around him and the way the muscles in his jaw tense as if he’s just as nervous to get too close. His upper body leans in. Is he finally going to kiss me? I’ve been wanting to kiss him since the moment he played doctor on my knee. But I pull back, turning my head and walking away. “I should probably get changed.”
And like a coward, I head up to my room to get changed and freshen up. I pace my room back and forth, wondering why the hell I just did that when I want this man to kiss me.
Am I scared of kissing someone other than my ex-husband?
I shouldn’t fucking be.
He’s in my past.
This is my home now.
For the first time since moving here, I don’t feel guilt for thinking about another man.
I stop pacing and shuffle through my closet. I’m not looking to get dressed up, but I know I need to just change my sweatpants and T-shirt for a cleaner one so I can stand in the same room as him and not smell like sickness. If that even has a smell. Then I run a brush through my hair before making my way downstairs again.
Once I make it to the last two steps, my body slows, and I watch Griffin setting two placemats with spoons and bowls on my kitchen island for both of us to eat.
He steps back, eying the setup to make sure it’s good enough.
I clear my throat while taking the last two steps. His head snaps around, facing me.
“I had to change. I think I smelled like too much sickness,” I say, feeling a blush creeping up my cheeks. “I really need a shower, but I need food more.”
He gestures to the kitchen counter. “Have a seat. The soup is ready for you,” he says. Then grabs each bowl and scoops the soup into them.
“Seriously, thank you. For all of this,” I tell him honestly, making my way to the small stool. “You truly didn’t have to do this. I feel so bad because whatever this sickness is, it’s fierce. And gross. And I don’t want you to get it.”
“I won’t,” he assures me. “I have the immune system of a moose.”
I cross my arms over my chest, smiling for the first time all day. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”
“It made you smile.”
Now I know for sure, my pale face is crimson red with that statement. I look down at the bowl he placed in front of me, smiling at it and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I ask, looking up at him.
“Hide your smile from me. When I was standing at your door when I got here, that’s what pained me the most. You looked so miserable, and I hated that.”
“You…” I pause, feeling confused. “What?”
“You’re growing on me, sweetheart.”
I blink a few times in his direction before looking down at my soup, swirling the spoon around the hot mix of chicken and vegetables. I can feel the smile begin to form on my lips. No matter how much I try to fight it off, I can’t.
Silence stretches between us for a few minutes, only increasing the tension in the tiny home.
“What city exactly are you from?” he asks out of nowhere.
I feel my stomach churn; this time it’s not from the sickness. This conversation was inevitable. Bringing up my past was something that eventually people would want to know.
“San Francisco,” I answer honestly.
“What made you move here?”
He’s getting to know me. That’s all this is. He doesn’t know my husband.
Concentrating on maintaining an even heart rate at his question, I inhale and exhale slowly to calm my nerves. “My life back home was far from ideal. As I told you before, my husband cheated on me. Betraying my trust in the worst way possible…” I pause, swallowing past the emotions of my past. “It left me feeling lost. I realized I needed some space to rediscover myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t love the city. However, I felt as if I was simply lost in the masses. I lost sight of who I was as a person.”
He nods repeatedly as if he understands.
“I come from a life of politics. Always in the spotlight and was molded into this person who was supposed to be professional one hundred percent of the time.”
“And that’s not who you are.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think it ever was. Being here, in Bluestone Lakes, I’ve learned a lot about myself. Who I’ve always been under the mask I had up.”
“You’re free.”
Two words. Hitting me square in the chest.
A feeling that’s grown on me in my short time here, only confirmed by hearing it from Griffin.
Nodding, letting the smile crest my lips. “I am.”
Griffin’s features soften, averting his gaze to the bowl of soup in front of him. His smile matches mine, but it’s cut short when he lets out a yawn.
“Did you work today?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation going without feeling awkward after the discussion of my past.
“I did, and it was an interesting crowd today.”
I eye him in confusion. “Isn’t it normally, like, the same people around here?”
He scoffs. “Yeah, usually it is. But it was Nan and Tucker. Both of them came in arguing over pretzel twists.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Nan and Tucker would fight over pretzels. Tucker seems so funny.”
“You think so?” he asks, but the shift in his tone sounds all gruff and feral. Like…he’s jealous?
Oh, this could be fun .
“Yeah. The few times I’ve seen him, I could tell he has this charm about him. All laughs. All fun. Serious when he needs to be, you know?”
He stares at me for a heartbeat before looking down at his now-empty bowl of soup and picking it up to take to the sink. I watch his every move as he rinses the bowl, placing it in the sink and resting both hands on the edge of the counter as if deep in thought.
Picking up my bowl, I meet him at the sink. He steps to the side, allowing me to put mine in the sink as well. Turning to face him, I place a hand on his forearm.
“I’ll finish the dishes later,” I say. “Seriously, thank you for all of this. I already feel so much better from you being here.”
He nods but remains silent.
He heads toward the front door as if he’s going to leave without saying anything more. After opening up to him and showing my vulnerable side, there’s no way he’s going to just walk out of here.
“Hey,” I call after him. He stops, turning to face me. “Are you just going to leave without a goodbye?” My hands find my hips in annoyance .
For a brief moment, I think he’s going to say goodbye and turn around and leave, but he doesn’t. He eyes me up and down, taking a few steps toward me. Close enough that I have to angle my head to meet his stare.
“There’s a lot more I want to say than that single word.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Okay?”
He cups the side of my cheek with his calloused but gentle hand and brushes his thumb over the apple of my cheek. His stare is so intense, my body shivers and I want to throw myself into him.
“But if I say all the things I want to say, I’ll never leave.” He pauses, eyes scanning my face. “And if I say it, it changes everything.”
“Let it change everything,” I whisper, letting my eyes flutter closed from his touch. “I can handle it.”
“Get some sleep, Blair.”
He leans down and presses a soft kiss on my forehead. I’ve never wanted to feel those lips on mine more than I do right now. Soft and warm, awakening a feeling inside of me so foreign.
He pulls back, his gaze never leaving my face.
Then I witness the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Griffin Barlow’s smile.