Page 64

"You're still here." I say, baffled. Okay, Rose should have been an indicator. But there was still a part of me, a nagging voice in the back of my mind, telling me she'd left.

Because why would she stay?

"Yeah." She gets up and ushers me into the kitchen and makes me sit in a dining chair. Her red hair flies through the air with the speed she moves through my kitchen. First, she sets a glass of the disgusting orangish-brown liquid she made me drink earlier down in front of me. "Drink."

I stare at it with the kind of disgust you'd reserve for your sworn enemy or Brussels sprouts.

"I'm not drinking this, Brooke. I'd prefer to not upset my stomach."

She’s already firing up my stove, but stops at once and turns to me. Slowly, horror-movie-villain-like, her arms crossed in front of her chest and chin raised. "Half of it."

"Nope." I shake my head; fully aware I'm not behaving any better than my dog when I try to give him medicine.

"Half of it, or I'm taking the pastries I got at Caleb's back home with me."

"You went to Caleb's?" My eyes widen. I can’t believe she got something to blackmail me with drinking this disgusting stuff.

"Twice. While you were sleeping."

"Why would you have gone twice?" My brain is lagging. Wait, what day is it even?

"Because he made whatever the things you don't want to share are, especially for you after I told him you were sick."

My jaw drops. Caleb did that? For me? And why does he do it when Brooke asks but not when I do? Rude.

Wait. He still made them for me. Okay, maybe he’s not rude, but I’m still kind of offended.

"And since you couldn't exactly complain, I had one." She smirks, tongue darting out over her lips and her grin widening when I keep staring at them as though they might disappear the moment I look away. "So I'm just saying, if you don't drink the vitamin bomb, I'm taking the whole tray home with me, and you will not get a single one. I'm sure Caleb would understand."

"The asshole would probably high-five you." I grumble and nudge the glass with the tip of my finger like it’s explosive.

Yes, it's disgusting. But it's about as disgusting as Caleb's winter rolls are good.

"A whole tray, you say?" She points to her right. Huh, look at that. It’s right there. The forbidden fruit.

Okay, Kieran. Get it over with. I can do it. And if it decides to come back up and say ‘hello’ again, I can hit Brooke with an ‘I told you so.’

Which would make it worth it, if I’m being honest.

Before I can change my mind, I grab the glass, pinch my nose with my free hand, and down the disgusting, slime-textured abomination of a smoothie in three big gulps. As I set the glass down, she puts a hot bowl of soup in front of me.

"You promised a pastry," I whine, staring at it and grabbing her wrist before she can retract it. It smells damn good, though.

"How about we see first if you can keep food down at all?" She points at the soup with the hand I’m not grabbing. "It would be such a shame for Caleb's pastries if you throw them right back up."

I lift my gaze and pout. She makes no attempt to free her wrist from my hold. Instead, she turns her hand and laces our fingers, softly laying the back of her other hand against my forehead.

“Your fever’s gone down. Thank God.”

“Thank you.” I clear my throat. Our gazes lock, and there’s so much in her eyes. Concern. A little fear. Relief. Her thumb draws soft patterns over my hand and…

Dick putting his head on the table with a loud ‘thud’ and eyeing the soup with mischief, saliva pooling on the table, breaks the moment.

I clear my throat and let go of her hand, grabbing a spoon instead. "Hate to say it, but your logic is impeccable.”

Wait.

My eyes jump from her to the bowl. "That's not from a can.” I sure know my canned soups, and this is not one.