Chapter 42 - Our House
Friday morning, Adrian woke up without a fever.
Not a low fever.
Not a technically this is better than yesterday fever.
Nothing.
I checked twice.
Because apparently four days of taking someone's temperature turned you into a deeply suspicious person.
"Again?" Adrian asked.
"Yes."
"You checked thirty seconds ago."
"I don't trust you."
"You're holding a thermometer."
"I don't trust that either."
He stared at me.
I checked again.
Normal.
I lowered the thermometer.
Adrian raised an eyebrow.
"Satisfied?"
"Temporarily."
He got out of bed.
Normally.
That was the first thing I noticed.
No sitting on the edge of the mattress for a minute before standing.
No slow movements.
No exhausted pause halfway across the room.
He just got up.
Walked to the bathroom.
Closed the door.
Like a normal person.
I stared at the closed door.
This was progress.
Slightly annoying progress.
By the time we'd both showered and gotten ready, Adrian looked almost like himself again.
Not completely.
There were still traces of the last few days on him. He looked tired. His several days of stubble hadn't magically disappeared, and he wasn't moving with quite his usual sharp energy.
But compared to Tuesday?
This man could probably file taxes.
We went downstairs.
Breakfast gave me the second sign.
Adrian ate.
Actually ate.
Not three bites followed by me staring at him until he reluctantly took a fourth.
He finished everything on his plate.
Then reached for more.
I watched him.
He noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're staring."
"I'm observing."
"That's staring with unnecessary justification."
I smiled.
And there it was.
The third sign.
Possibly the most medically significant one.
He was arguing with me.
Properly.
Not exhausted little objections from beneath a blanket.
Not weak attempts at telling me he was fine while visibly dying.
Actual Adrian Vale arguing.
His appetite was back.
His temperature was normal.
He was walking like a functional human being.
But honestly, the arguing was the important symptom.
Adrian Vale was going to survive.
We finished breakfast together.
I was putting my glass down when he said-
"Angelica."
"Yes?"
Nothing.
I looked up.
Adrian was looking at me.
Except there was something strange about his expression.
Hesitation.
Adrian Vale was hesitating.
That was never a good sign.
"What?"
"Nothing."
My eyes narrowed.
"No. Say it."
"It's nothing, really."
"No."
He looked at me.
"That is not a nothing face."
"I don't have a nothing face."
"You absolutely have a nothing face. That's not it."
Silence.
"Say it."
"Angelica."
"Adrian."
He looked away.
Now I was interested.
Very interested.
"What?"
"Forget it."
"No."
"It doesn't matter."
"Then saying it shouldn't be difficult."
His eyes came back to mine.
I waited.
He said nothing.
I waited harder.
Finally, he exhaled.
"Can you make the cookies you made last time?"
I blinked.
Adrian looked mildly uncomfortable now.
Which only made this better.
"The cookies?"
"Yes."
"The chocolate ones?"
"Yes."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
His expression flattened.
"Because I want them."
My eyebrows went up.
He looked away again.
Then, quieter-
"I'm craving them."
Oh.
Well.
That was surprising.
Adrian Vale was not only asking me for something.
He was asking me to make him a specific food.
Because he was craving it.
I wasn't sure why that was so adorable.
Unfortunately, it was.
"Yeah, why not?"
His eyes came back to me.
"But I need to go out and get the ingredients."
"I'll go with you."
"No."
The answer came so quickly that his eyebrows pulled together.
"I'm perfectly good now."
"You're better. Not perfectly good."
"I'll go."
"No."
"Angelica."
"Adrian."
"I've been inside this penthouse for four days."
"And you've been sick for four days."
"I don't have a fever."
"Congratulations."
"I'm going."
"No."
His jaw tightened.
Mine probably did too.
For several seconds, we stared at each other across the kitchen island.
Then Adrian said, "I'll sit in the car."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because that's how it starts."
His brow furrowed.
"How what starts?"
"First you're sitting in the car. Then you're getting out of the car. Then you're walking around the store. Then you're telling me you're perfectly fine while leaning against a shopping cart."
"I don't lean against shopping carts."
"Not the point."
"I'll stay in the car."
"No."
"Angelica."
"You need to rest."
"I have been resting for four days."
"Excellent. You're very experienced now."
His eyes narrowed.
I reached for the dishes.
"Conversation over."
"It isn't."
"It is from my side."
"You can't end a conversation unilaterally."
"I just did."
I picked up the plates.
Adrian followed me toward the sink.
Of course he did.
"I'll sit in the car."
"You already said that."
"And you haven't given me one reasonable reason why I can't."
"You were sick yesterday."
"I'm not sick today."
"You're recovering."
"I can recover in a car."
I turned around.
He was standing there looking entirely too determined for someone who had spent most of the week being ordered into bed.
"You are not getting out."
"I won't."
"You are not coming into the store."
"I won't."
"You are sitting in the passenger seat."
"Yes."
"And if you feel tired, dizzy, cold, hot, weird, weak, or anything else-"
"I'll tell you."
I studied him.
He waited.
I hated this.
Mostly because he looked so hopeful about leaving his own home that I was beginning to feel like a prison warden.
"Fine."
Something changed immediately in his face.
Tiny.
But there.
I pointed at him.
"Car."
"Yes."
"Only."
"Yes."
"You stay in it."
"I understand the concept."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
I narrowed my eyes.
"If I come out of that store and find you wandering around-"
"You'll what?"
I paused.
Good question.
"I'll take your cookies away."
Adrian stared at me.
"That seems excessive."
"Then behave."
Twenty minutes later, we were in Candy.
I was driving.
Adrian Vale was sitting in my passenger seat.
Which felt wrong.
Not bad.
Just wrong.
I'd been in his Corvette enough times now that seeing him sitting quietly beside me in my bright magenta Mustang felt like someone had accidentally placed a very expensive piece of furniture in the wrong house.
He adjusted the seat.
I glanced over.
"Don't touch anything."
"I adjusted the seat."
"That's touching something."
"Would you prefer my knees against the dashboard?"
"Yes."
He looked at me.
I smiled sweetly.
He looked out the window.
Definitely recovering.
We reached the store a few minutes later.
I parked.
Then turned toward him.
"Stay."
Adrian slowly looked at me.