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The elevator doors open and I step inside, ready to descend to my doom. As they close behind me I look at my phone again, but this time at Elliot’s texts from last night. Or rather, this morning. I can’t believe he stayed with me till so late.
ELLIOT (02:37 AM)
You looked fine when I left. But in case you didn’t hear me, if you need anything, ANYTHING, please call me. Hope you sleep well and feel better when you wake up.
(07:14 AM)
Could you please let me know when you’re awake—worrying about you.
ME (07:16 AM)
Just got up. Much better. Thank you for everything. And sorry. So very, very sorry.
ELLIOT (07:17 AM)
You’re welcome. I’ll *try* to hold off teasing till you’re fully recovered. But can’t make any promises…
I smile to myself as the doors open.
He took care of me. And worried about me.
How did he become the perfect combination of caring and amusing? And is that a little bit of flirt thrown in there? Can’t be. I mean, last night he saw me puking, sweating, and rambling incoherent nonsense. Even if he’d been interested before, you can’t get a much bigger turnoff than that.
Anyway, he’s Max’s brother. So I’d have to return to food poisoning levels of delirium to consider his flirtation a good thing—even if it does feel like one.
I pause before I get to his office and watch him through the glass wall for a second. He leans toward the left of his three screens, plants his elbow on the desk and rests his chin on his palm as he examines something closely. Then the furrow in his brow lifts, and he sits back and types quickly. I think I just witnessed a brilliant mind figuring out something.
At least that puts an unforced smile on my face. I ignore the fresh clench in my stomach, my damp armpits, and shaky breath, and walk toward the door.
As I raise my fist to knock, Elliot looks up, grins, and waves me in.
“Well,” he says, leaning back in his chair, swiveling from side to side and tapping a pencil against his square chin. “She lives.”
I was determined to keep control of the embarrassment, but a wave of heat hotter than any fever I felt last night sets my face on fire. I dread to think how red I must look.
I close my eyes and shake my head. “Oh, don’t. Please. I’ve never been so ashamed.”
“No need for any of that.” He gets up and walks around his desk. “You couldn’t help the dumplings seeking their revenge.”
“And don’t do that either.” I place both hands on my still-tender belly. “I never want to think about those things again.”
He sits on the sofa and gestures for me to join him. “Feeling better, though?”
I perch as far away from him as possible. “Much, thank you. I drank a vat of water when I got up and picked up a matcha on the way here. That improved things immensely. Now I’m just tired.”
My focus is drawn to the dark circles behind his glasses. “You must be too. You stayed for so long. And thank you for leaving me the bowl. And the water. And my phone.”
I force myself to turn away from his eyes in a desperate attempt to eradicate the full body tingles they’re sending through me. I look down at the sofa cushion instead and pinch the edging between my fingers. “It was very nice of you. Very kind.”
“Well, at least you have some color in your face now, which you definitely didn’t have last night. Well, you did, but it was closer to that sludge you drink than a normal human complexion.”
I pat my cheeks. “This is more humiliation than good health. I can’t believe you saw me like that. It’s just awful.”
“Not at all. You were actually kind of cute.” He tilts his head to meet my gaze with an affectionate look that does nothing to quell the tingles. “And I learned a few new things about you.”
I rest my elbows on my knees and curl in on myself like a croissant. “Like what I look like with puke dribbling from my nose? And what weird stuff I say during a rambling fever? I’d much prefer it if neither you nor anyone else on the planet ever learned those things.”
“Well, yes. But also, I didn’t know you had two brothers. And it sounds like you virtually raised them.”
