All night, I watch over her, holding her close. When she shifts or mumbles in her sleep, I wake up immediately to make sure she’s okay.
“You’re safe with me, little pixie,” I whisper against her hair. “I’ll always take care of you.”
In the morning, Izabel has color back in her face and looks much happier.
“Morning, pixie, how are you feeling? You look a lot stronger,” I say, brushing my fingers over her cheek.
She sits up in bed, and I do the same. Her hair is a wild mess, and she looks as cute as ever.
“Oh, my goodness, it must have been a twenty-four-hour bug,” she says thoughtfully to herself. “Last night feels like a fever dream,” she says, looking up at me. “Did you even eat dinner?”
“I didn’t. I didn’t want to eat near you in case the smell of the food upset you,” I explain.
“Anton! You must be starving!” she says, annoyed with me. Then she cocks her head to the side and scrunches her nose. “Actually, I’m starving,” she giggles.
“I guess you are feeling better, then,” I chuckle. “Shall we go make breakfast, or do you want to relax, and I’ll bring it up to you in bed?”
“Oh no, I spent enough time in bed yesterday, thank you very much.”
She jumps out of bed, and I have to hurry to catch up with her as she goes downstairs to the kitchen.
In the kitchen, I grin at her sheepishly while I stand in front of the tall kitchen cabinet.
“Why do you look like you’re up to something?” she asks, grinning back at me.
I pull the cupboard open and let her see the several boxes of Froot Loops I had them stock for me yesterday.
“Froot Loops! Are you serious? I didn’t even know they still made them!” she says excitedly.
I chuckle as I pull one of the boxes out and set it on the counter next to her breakfast bowl.
“Milk and sugar?” I ask.
Instead of answering me, she reaches out to grab the corner of my T-shirt and pulls me into her arms, slipping them around my waist. “Thank you,” she whispers, looking up at me.
“I wanted you to have your favorite breakfast,” I muse.
“No, not just that. Last night also. You didn’t have to do that for me. Thank you for taking care of me like that,” she says,standing up on her tiptoes. My heart flips when she presses her lips against mine, and her fingers cling to my T-shirt.
I slide my hand up the back of her head and deepen the kiss.
My pixie.
My sweet, wild little pixie.
***
Over the next few days, I avoid going into the office. Instead, I opt to work from home, just in case she needs me.
Strangely, though, Izabel is acting differently.
When I go look for her, I always find her sort of hiding in some corner. Sitting in the far chair in the library, or back in her own room, drawing on her bed.
Every time I ask her if she’s okay, I get the same answer.
“Yes, why?”
“Because you’re very quiet lately,” I explain.
