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Right?
I open my bedroom door to see a round mass of fur waiting for me.
“Good morning,” I murmur to Wilson, who meows expectantly. He leads me downstairs as the smell of coffee and eggs calls to me, distracting me from the pounding in my head.
Charlotte is in the dining room dusting the table, and she gives me a smile. Her hair is down today, and she looks much more relaxed than last night.
“Harper!” she says. “I set up breakfast for you in the garden. Is that alright?”
Warmth spreads through me and I return her smile. “Of course.”
“Beau says you took a liking to it—it’s impossible not to, right?”
I put my hand to my forehead and flinch. She frowns.
“Shoot. Is that headache back?” she asks gently.
I nod. “It’s strange. It comes and goes; one minute I feel like I have a fever, the next I’m fine. It’s like my body can’t decide if it’s sick or not.”
Charlotte is quiet for far too long, staring at me. Her expression is the same as it was the night I checked in—bewildered.
“What is it?” I ask. “What do you think is wrong with me?”
Do you know something I don’t?I want to scream at her.
“I don’t know,” she says gently, her eyes softening. “But keep an eye on it. There’s a hospital not too far from here—I don’t think it will come to that, and I can see if we have any medicine here, so you don’t need to return to the pharmacy.”
I think of the awkward pharmacist and the strange encounter with Renee, the Omega that claimed to know me.
“That would be great,” I say. “Also, I’m sure being outside will help, too.”
“Oh, of course,” she agrees. “The garden makes everything better.”
* * *
I’m not usedto eating alone.
Michael was always at my side, insisting I take my medicine, and only eating things he cooked.
There’s a strange sense of independence as I sip my coffee in between bites of the savory egg soufflé. My fingers run over the intricate pattern on top of the dark glass table, tracing over the design that matches the gazebo.
The weather is overcast, the sky grey and white with a light breeze that makes the flowers dance in the wind.
Charlotte was right. The garden makes everything better. My headache is muted, and my body no longer burns with the promise of a fever.
I’m not alone, either. Wilson has a silver bowl on the stone pathway, a plate of quail eggs and chicken presented elegantly as he enjoys his breakfast.
I’ve never been jealous of a cat.
Yet here I am, wishing I could live like him, spending every day at theInnand lounging in the garden as I please.
That would be the life.
Halfway through the cup of coffee, I feel a pair of eyes watching me.
Michael? Could it be Michael?
Oh my God, he’s here he knows I’m here—
