“How’s she feeling? Claire told me you called, and that you were worried about her. Is she okay?” Riot asks. His furrowed brow tells me he’s concerned.
“Hannah and I were going to go over to check on her, but Claire said you had it handled,” Logan tells me.
“I have no idea what’s going on.” Dillon stands there, with his feet planted and arms crossed, waiting for my answer.
Carson’s head turns slowly and meets my eyes. “Well?” he prompts.
“She had a cough and a high fever last night.” Shifting the bags to one hand, I open my back door and place them inside on the floor before saying, “She says she’s feeling better this morning, though.”
“So what? You called to check on her?” Dillon narrows his eyes and raises his chin.
“No, I was there,” I mumble, shoving my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie. I don’t know why I’m being so awkward. I am simply supporting our mutual friend.
“You stopped in this morning,” Logan clarifies, narrowing his eyes. They have only worked together a short time, but they have become fast friends, and I know he feels protective of her. To be fair, they all look out for her.
“No, I spent the night.” When all their eyes widen, I hurry to say, “She was really sick, guys. She shouldn’t have been there alone.”
When nobody says anything, I look at each of them standing in a semicircle around me. “What? Do you think I should have left her? She was sick.”
“No, I’m glad you stayed. Ben and Claire were both sick last week. He bounced back way quicker than she did. She was in bed for a couple of days,” Riot reflects. No one needs to ask; we all know he was the one there taking care of them both. It’s obvious to everyone except Claire how much he cares for her.
“Hannah and I clocked this weeks ago.” Logan shakes his head with a chuckle.
“What?” I ask, twisting my watch back and forth on my wrist.
“You have feelings for her,” he says with an easy grin.
Rubbing my hand across the scruff on my jaw, I reply, “I wouldn’t say that, but we’ve become better friends recently.”
Across the row of parked cars, I hear a horn beeping repeatedly. We all look around to see where it’s coming from. Dillon drops his head and mutters, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, what is his problem now?”
Carson raises his hand in the air at the elderly man. “Hi, Harold. How are you?”
Ignoring him, Harold leans out the window and yells, “Hurry up, Dillon. Quit standing around and talking about your feelings; it’s time to go home.”
“Seriously? He was the one who demanded to come with me, and I haven’t even gotten what I need yet.” The words barely leave his mouth when Harold leans on the horn again.
“I swear to God, one of these days I’m going to smother him in his sleep,” he mutters as he walks towards his truck without a backward glance.
“Well, this has been fun, but I have another stop to make before I go home.”
“To Beck’s?” Carson quirks an eyebrow.
“That’s what I said,” I say slowly.
“No, you said home,” Logan counters.
“Well, to be fair, he has been there a lot lately.” Riot snorts, looking between Logan and Carson.
“And I’m out. When you figure out what’s going on between Beck and me, let me know.”
Getting into my truck, I leave them visiting in the parking lot. I have already been gone longer than I intended and still have one more stop to make. Should I text her to make sure she’s okay? She’s fine, right?
Pulling over just down the street from the bakery, I pull out my phone.
Just checking to see if you need anything else.
Beck
