Page 165 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

“I look terrible.”

“I won’t be there to admire you.”

I coughed again, then gasped for air. “Somehow worse.”

“Let me bring Max and the supplies to you. I can handle his walks and dinner while you stay under the blankets and insult me.”

I closed my eyes.

My apartment wasn’t guest-ready. I wasn’t guest-ready. My hair was probably doing something terrible. There were tissues on the nightstand and a mug on the floor. Rafe’s coat was still hanging over the back of the blue chair because I had never found a dignified way to return it after wearing it around my apartment like a woman in a period drama waiting for news from the war.

But Max would need dinner soon. And I wanted Max here. And I was so tired.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

Rafe’s voice softened by almost nothing. Of course, I heard it anyway. “I’m on my way.”

I told him where I hid the spare key, then spent the next forty minutes pretending I hadn’t just invited Rafe Virelli into my apartment while I looked like a boiled sock.

The lock turned, then the door opened.

Max’s nails clicked across the floor first, quick and familiar, and then his heavy head appeared around my bedroom doorway.

“Hi, baby,” I rasped.

He came straight to the bed and pressed his nose against the blanket.

A moment later, Rafe appeared behind him, carrying two paper bags, a pharmacy bag, and Max’s leash looped neatly over one wrist.

Max put his head on the bed. His eyes searched my face, soft and serious.

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe my lies.

Traitor.

Rafe stopped in the doorway to my bedroom. For once, he didn’t look severe. He looked carefully blank, which was worse because I could see the concern he had put behind it.

“You are not fine,” he said.

“I’m fashionably unwell.”

“You look like you have a fever.” He came closer and set the bags on my dresser. “May I?”

I squinted at him. “May you what?”

“Check.”

My stupid heart did something embarrassing, but I nodded.

He sat on the edge of the bed, leaving a careful distance, and placed the back of his fingers against my forehead. His skin was warm.

His jaw tightened.

“Don’t make that face,” I said.