Chapter Twelve
Thai Chicken Soup
No, no, no, no.
No.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
I lie back on my pillow on Friday morning and test my throat again by swallowing.
Ouch.
My nose is stuffy. I’ve sneezed. Coughed.
And my throat hurts.
I’m so sick.
And there’s no way I’m having a date with Noah tonight.
Damn it, damn it, damn it! Why did I have to get sick TODAY? Of all the days in the year, why now?
I refuse to believe this is a sign that my relationship with Noah is doomed.
I groan in misery and reach for my phone. I’m not going to text this to Noah, that I need to cancel. I’m afraid he’ll think it’s me flaking out again. He needs to hear my stuffed-up head and scratchy voice to know the last thing in the world I want to do is cancel this date tonight.
Let’s see. It’s eight-thirty. I’ll text him and see if he’s up first:
Hey, need to talk to you. Call me when you can.
Then I hit send.
Ugh. I need to get up and start chugging fluids and suck on some disgusting menthol drops ASAP.
I push myself to an upright position. My head feels ridiculously heavy. Fab.
I make my way to the bathroom and turn on the light. Then I gasp when I see myself.
I look hideous.
My pale skin is colourless. My peaches-and-cream complexion has been replaced by the colour of copy paper. My eyes are red and irritated, and my nose will be red as soon as I start blowing it.
“Ugh,” I groan.
I finish up in the bathroom, grab my phone and the box of tissues off the bedside table, and head downstairs to the kitchen. I need tea and honey for this throat. That’s the only thing that sounds good right now.
Just as I fill the kettle with water, my phone rings. I glance down and see it is Noah.
“Hey,” I say, sniffling. “Thanks for calling me.”
GAH. My voice sounds awful.
“Did you just wake up?” Noah asks.
“Yes, but I’m really sick, Noah,” I say regretfully. “I woke up feeling like crap. I have a sore throat, stuffy nose, it’s a total head cold.”
“You sound terrible,” he concedes.
“I wanted to talk to you so you could hear it,” I say. “Because obviously I cannot go out tonight, but I wanted to assure you that I am not flaking out on you again. I wanted to go out tonight so badly, and I’m so pissed off that I’m sick.”
Noah is quiet for a moment. Then he finally speaks. “Violet, I don’t think you’re a flake,” he says softly. “You don’t have to prove to me you’re sick. If you would have texted me, I would have believed you.”
My sore throat swells, and not from sickness. I’m so used to everyone calling me a butterfly—which is a nice code word for flake—that I expected him to do the same.
And the fact that Noah can see other things in me, greater things than anyone else, means more than he could ever know.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice thick.
“So what can I do for you? Do you need me to take you to a doctor?” he asks.
I blink. What?
“You want to take me to a doctor?”
“Well, you’re sick, aren’t you?”
“It’s a head cold. I know I got it from the classroom yesterday. I was sitting next to a sick child, and she generously shared her crayons and virus with me.”
Noah chuckles. “That will do it. Kids are petri dishes of germs.”
“I’m going to take a Covid test just to make sure it’s not that, but I’m fairly certain it’s a nasty cold.”
“All right. What can I bring you?”
GAH! I don’t want Noah anywhere near me right now! I refuse to show him sick Violet before he gets first-date Violet!
“You are so sweet to offer, but I don’t need anything. I stocked up yesterday at the supermarket because I had a gut feeling I could get sick,” I say, opening a cupboard and rummaging around for chamomile tea. “I’ve got tissues and lozenges. I plan on doing nothing but sipping hot tea with honey and drinking a lot of water today.”
“You need to eat,” Noah says.
I find the chamomile tea and put the bag into a mug. “I promise I will.”
“You need chicken soup.”
I chuckle at that. “Does that really work or is that a myth?”
He laughs softly, and my stomach flips happily at the sound.
“That’s a fair question, but it would be good for a sore throat. Or ice cream.”
“I can have some delivered if I need it,” I reassure him. “I do not want you coming near me right now. I refuse to be responsible for infecting you.”
“Violet. I’m in a dressing room with a tonne of guys. How much shit do you think I’m exposed to during the season? My immune system is firing on all cylinders.”
“Well, I don’t want it to sputter out with exposure to me,” I retort. “The responsibility would be too much to bear.”
He lets out a frustrated sigh as I pour hot water over my tea bag. “I didn’t know you could be exasperating.”
I grin at that. “You have loads to learn about me, Noah. But our date will have to be rescheduled. It might have to be in Dorset, if you are still keen on coming next week.”
“I am. I actually found a sick place to rent. It’s a cottage built into the Portland stone cliffs. It’s on its own little island, very private, with only a few other cottages. It’s not as close to you, but I thought we could spend part of our time there on the beach. It looks like a great place for us to get to know each other better. I know you might have to work, so I’ll bring my dog and go exploring whilst you do that. And there’s two bedrooms, so no pressure, Violet. Or I can take you home every night. Doesn’t matter to me as long as I can get some time with you.”
Now I’m blinking back tears.
Why did I ever try to push this man away?
“That sounds wonderful,” I manage to say, my voice thick again. I clear my throat, hoping he didn’t hear me becoming a sap on the phone. “And complete inspiration for me to get better.”
“Good. Speaking of getting better, drink your tea, eat some toast, and get back to bed soon, okay? You need fluids and rest.”
I chuckle. “Yes, Doctor.”
“I’ll check in with you later. Ring me if you need anything, okay? I mean that.”
“I will.”
I hang up and bite my lip. I still don’t feel worthy of a man this kind and wonderful. But instead of running from it? Of pushing it away out of fear?
I’m going to face it.
I’m going to work on myself and my feelings and get them sorted.
So one day, I can say without a doubt, that I deserve to have a man like Noah Darby.
And believe it.
* * *
The doorbell jolts me from my position on the sofa, and I groggily try to make sense of what is going on. I push myself up, my throat on fire and my head heavy, and slowly wake up. There’s a trail of tissues I’ve thrown onto the living room floor. The coffee table is littered with lozenge wrappers, a half-full water glass, an empty tea mug that contained Lemsip—a hot drink with paracetamol and decongestant—and a tissue box.
Next, I hear knocking on my door, followed by a familiar voice.
“Violet? It’s Noah.”
GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Oh God. No, no, no! I frantically look around at the mess I’ve created—oh, crap, even the LED candles are all still knocked over in the fireplace, in addition to the den of sickness I’ve created here in the living room.
I swallow—ouch—and give up. I’ll tell him to stand back on the pavement and only open the door a crack to him, assure him I’m alive, and send him back to his hotel. I drag myself to the door—I’m so tired—and open it a sliver.
“Get back,” I say, my voice sounding creaky and hideous to my own ears.
“Violet, I’m not afraid of your germs,” Noah says, not moving an inch. I notice he’s holding a bag in his arms, and my heart leaps, knowing he’s probably brought me stuff to make me feel better.
“I’m warning you, I practically have a plague,” I say.
His mouth curves up in an amused smile. For a moment I forget being sick and remember the wonderful way he kisses with that mouth, and I don’t know if I’m getting hot from him or if my fever is spiking.
“I’m confident you don’t have the plague.”
I still don’t open the door any wider. “I don’t want you getting sick before you have to go to Australia. Your coach might never forgive me.”
“My coach has nothing to worry about. Now will you let me in?”
“No. I look like crap. I’m still in the first-impression stage with you. You cannot see me sick, Noah!”
He tilts his head to the side, studying me between the slim sliver of doorway that I’m allowing him to see.
“You were gorgeous the first night I laid eyes on you at Wisteria House. You were gorgeous the first time I saw you again in Dorset. You were gorgeous at the beach, at dinner, at breakfast the next morning, and you were gorgeous the other night when I pulled you into that alcove and kissed you. You’re sick, and you’re still going to be beautiful, but more than that? You’re still the woman I want to know. Now, will you please let me come in? I have some things for you.”
I bite my lower lip so I don’t cry in front of him. “How are you real?”
“I can ask the same thing of you,” he says in his soft-spoken voice.
It takes everything in me not to throw my arms around him. But instead, I settle for opening the door and stepping aside for him to walk through. “Welcome to the den of sickness, enter at your own risk.”
Noah pauses, and I shut the door behind him. Before I can say anything else, he gently lays his hand to my face. “You look so pale,” he says, concern flickering in his beautiful eyes. “And your face is warm.”
“I just woke up.”
“No, this feels like fever. Have you taken anything recently?”
I begin walking into the mess of a den and cough. “Yes, I drank some Lemsip a few hours ago.”
“Okay, so not time to take that again,” Noah says firmly. He strokes his fingers through my hair, and then his brows draw together in confusion.
“What?” I ask, confused by the way he’s looking at me.
“There’s something in your hair, and I’m going to pull it out, okay?”
Oh my God. This is mortifying.
AND WHAT IS HE GOING TO PULL OUT OF MY HAIR?
I nod, and Noah makes a face as he gently tugs on something in my hair, near my cheekbone. Then he holds it between his thumb and forefinger to show me. “Is this a lozenge?” he asks.
GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Noah just pulled a half-dissolved lozenge out of my hair.
I’m mortified.
But Noah merely looks amused.
I try to ignore how my face is burning with embarrassment and clear my throat.
“Erm … I put one in my mouth when I lay down for my nap because my throat hurt. I … I must have slept with my mouth open, and it fell into my hair.”
He grins at me. “It’s quite the accessory.”
I begin to laugh, but then fall into a fit of coughing. To my surprise, Noah shifts the bag he’s holding to one side, and then draws me into his chest with his free arm. “Sorry, I shouldn’t make you laugh.”
Then I feel his lips brush the top of my hair.
I might be sick, but suddenly I’m very much alive. My stomach tingles. He’s so gentle and caring, and I’m having all the emotions about the way he’s treating me right now.
“I brought you dinner,” he says.
“You don’t have to do that,” I insist.
“I know I don’t. But I wanted to.”
I nod. “Thank you. That sounds really lovely.”
“Why don’t you sit down?” Noah says, guiding me to the sofa, “and I’ll bring you some stuff to eat.”
I nod and sink back down onto the sofa, pulling the throw blanket up over me. I watch in mortification as Noah’s eyes cast downwards, to the trail of tissues all around the sofa, and I cringe.
“Would you like me to bring a bin in here?” he asks.
Dieeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
“I normally don’t do this. I felt so bad, I just threw them on the floor when I was lying on the sofa. It’s gross, I know.”
“To be fair, you didn’t know you were getting a visitor.”
“I’ll clean them up,” I say, beginning to stand up.
“Sit. You can use this takeaway bag as a bin after I empty it. Where’s the kitchen?”
“Down the hall, to your left.”
He nods. “Be back in a second.”
I sink down once again and get comfortable. Ugh, my nose is so stuffy and all I want to do is cough.
Within a few minutes, Noah returns with the empty brown bag. “Here you go. One rubbish bin for you.”
I blush and take it from him. “Thank you. What’s for dinner, by the way?”
“Well, I googled what to eat when you have a cold and tom ka gai was recommended. It’s a Thai chicken soup with chilli. It’s supposed to be great for your immune system. Might also kick through to your taste buds.”
“That sounds so good. I mean, soup sounds good, but that sounds even better. Thank you so much.”
“I got some dinner for myself, so we can eat together,” Noah says. “And before you go on about germs again, they don’t scare me, okay?”
I smile up at him, my heart brimming with affection for this man. “Okay.”
He smiles in return and heads back to the kitchen, and I take a moment to gather up my used tissues and put them into the paper bag. With that embarrassment sorted, I head to the guest bathroom down the hall to see if I look worse than I did before. Once I turn on the light and see myself, I gasp in horror.
It’s worse. Way, way, way worse!
My nose is Rudolph red on the sides. My eyes are glossy, and I’m still the colour of copy paper.
Noah has seen me like this.
With a lozenge stuck in my hair.
I begin to laugh, which then makes me cough, so I stop. I wash my hands and return to the sofa, feeling so lucky to have Noah here. He doesn’t care that I’m sick and he’s not going to be getting any action tonight. He’s not afraid of catching anything from me.
All he wants to do is take care of me.
And I can’t think of anything more romantic than that.
I head back out to the living room and resettle on the sofa. I can hear Noah in the kitchen, but due to my nose, I can’t smell anything. Before long, he’s coming back to the living room, carrying a steaming bowl on a platter.
“This was the closest thing I could find for a tray,” he says.
“Thank you. I appreciate this so much.”
“You’re welcome.” He puts the bowl and a spoon down on the coffee table in front of me. “I’m going to heat up mine and I’ll join you.”
I nod, and Noah heads back to the kitchen. I pick up the bowl of soup, dip my spoon into it, and take a sip.
Okay, to be honest, I can’t taste much due to how stuffy I am, but what I can taste? Spicy and good. The warm liquid feels good on my raw throat, and gratitude for Noah fills me all over again.
Within minutes he’s joining me, and I glance over at what is on his plate. “What do you have?”
“Panang curry with chicken,” Noah says, taking a seat next to me. “It’s my favourite curry.”
“I like Thai curry better than Indian, is that weird?” I ask, taking another sip of my soup. “Nicholas and Amelia love a good Indian takeaway, but I always crave the Thai flavours.”
“Not at all. It’s my favourite, too.”
That begins another easy conversation that flows between us, just as it did last night. I notice Noah is taking the initiative in conversation just as much as I am, and it seems like the quiet man who stood back and watched me the first time we met at Wisteria House is gone, replaced by this man who is comfortable in my presence.
I love the fact that I brought this out in him.
When we’re done, Noah insists I stay seated and takes all the dishes back to the kitchen. Then I hear the tap turn on, and I would yell at him to stop if it wouldn’t hurt so much. When he returns, I smile at him. “You didn’t have to do the dishes. I have a head cold. I can manage that.”
Noah takes a seat at the end of the sofa and picks up a cushion. “My goal is to get you better, so we can have lots of dates in Dorset next week.”
I lift a brow. “You might be sick in Dorset after all this exposure to me.”
“It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
I’m having sooooooo many feelings for Noah right now, it’s unreal.
“Well, if you are sick, I promise I’ll nurse you back to health,” I say.
A huge smile lights up his face, and my heart thumps happily as a result.
“That might be worth getting sick for,” he declares.
“No, it’s not,” I assure him.
“Come on,” Noah says, putting the cushion in his lap. “Lie down and talk to me.”
I pause.
He wants me to lie in his lap. It’s an intimate, caring gesture.
And he’s offering it to me.
I slowly lie down on my side, placing my head upon the pillow. Noah reaches for the blanket I was using and drapes it over me. Then his hand finds my hair, and he begins trailing his fingers through it.
“I’ll let you know if I find any more lozenges,” he says.
I begin to laugh, which leads to a deep coughing fit. “Ouch, don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
“Sorry,” Noah says, chuckling.
I close my eyes. “This is so relaxing. I love the way you play with my hair, Noah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll remember that.”
“You’re too good to be real,” I say.
“No, not at all.”
“You know it’s rude not to take my compliment, right?”
He chuckles again. “I apologise. I accept your compliment.”
“Thank you.” I move my hand up, so I’m resting it underneath the pillow, on his thigh. “If you keep doing that, I might fall asleep.”
“Good. You need to rest so you can feel better.”
“Well, if I do, and you need to leave, wake me up.”
Noah continues to play with my hair, and I swear every time he touches me, I’m reminded how tactile he is.
Lucky me,I think with a smile.
“I’m not worried about that,” he says softly. “I don’t need to be back in Surrey until tomorrow.”
I sigh heavily. “I’m sorry this isn’t the date you had planned.”
“Am I with you?”
“Well, yes b—”
“Then I have the date I wanted.”
I turn over onto my back so I can look up at him. He gazes down at me, his brown eyes warm with affection.
My heart begins to race. This is magic.
And I can’t wait to see where we go from here.