“Yes,” he replied, lifting his glass of wine. “When will you pick up your dress?”
“It will be ready for collection on the Saturday before the reception. Chris is going to pick it up for me.” I’d bought my footwear while I was at the boutique last time, so that was done. I hadn’t yet shown Dane the ivory lace knee-high boots. There had been occasions when, at home alone, I’d worn them to go on a wander through the house; breaking them in and getting a feel for what they were like depending on the type of flooring.
I used the soft napkin to dry my clean hands. “Onto a whole other topic, are you sure you’re okay with spending Thanksgiving with my family?”
His brow creased. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because Melinda’s still a little off with you. I wouldn’t like to eat my Thanksgiving dinner at a table where there’s tension.” The meal was in a few weeks’ time, but Melinda had already called the people she wished to invite, including my father.
“You want to go, so we’ll go. Just be aware that if Heather cancels the plans she’s made with her friends and does attend the dinner, I won’t be anything close to friendly with her. I can’t prove she sent that flash drive, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t.”
“I highly doubt she’ll cancel her plans. She’s always left Junior at her parents’ home on Thanksgiving so she can go spend the day drinking with her friends. To each their own, I guess. You sure the tension won’t put you off your meal?”
“Unlike you, I’m not interested in the holidays. It will be just another day to me.”
“So I won’t be able to convince you to dress up on Halloween?”
His brow furrowed. “Is that a serious question?”
And there went my dream of him dressed in a fireman’s outfit. I leaned back in my chair. “I guess I can spend the day with Ashley and Tucker.”
His frown deepened. “You’ll spend it with me.”
“Doing what? You’ll hole up in your office.”
“We’ll go to the city’s annual Halloween festival.”
My mouth almost dropped open. I sat up straight. “Okay, you’re really starting to worry me now. Daytrips, meals, festivals. You’re not dying, are you?”
He gave me a droll look. “Do you want to go to the festival or not?”
“Yeah, obviously, but there’ll be no tickets left. They sell out fast.”
“I’ll get some.”
I was going to warn him that it wouldn’t be so simple, but then his phone began to ring. I waited for him to answer it, but he didn’t. “Aren’t you going to get that?”
“We’re talking.”
I almost fell off my chair. “But you … Okay.” I wasn’t gonna complain that I had his full attention. I really didn’t know what to do with it, though. And now he was back to wearing that secret smile. I narrowed my eyes. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Looking at me like you know something I don’t.”
“Vienna, I probably know a lot of things you don’t.”
I might have bristled if I wasn’t so pleased that the oh so serious Dane Davenport was actually teasing me. “Arrogant fucker,” I muttered.
A godawful cramp in my stomach yanked me out of sleep. I moaned and pulled my knees up to my chest. Every muscle in my stomach seemed to contract and twist. Then a strong wave of nausea slammed into me.
Oh God, I was gonna be sick.
I felt the vomit begin to rise; knew I’d never be able to hold it back.
I scrambled off the bed and rushed to the bathroom like my ass was on fire. I made it to the toilet just in time. I retched violently as vicious contractions racked my stomach. It was so bad I could barely catch my breath between the flows of vomit that surged up my throat and sprayed the toilet pan.
“Vienna?” A hand settled on my back just as Dane bent over me. “Shit.”
Mortified, I tried waving him away, but he wouldn’t be budged. He held my ponytail out of the way and rubbed my back as I hurled like a champ. The stench of stomach acid and vomit stung my nostrils.
Finally, the contractions stopped, but the queasy feeling remained, telling me it wasn’t over yet. Glad of the reprieve, I flushed the toilet, sank to my knees, and sat on my haunches. Jesus, that was intense. My eyes watered, and my breaths were coming fast.
I grabbed some toilet paper and wiped my mouth. “I think I caught a stomach bug.”
“Or food poisoning.” Crouched beside me, he put his palm against my forehead. His jaw went hard. “You’re running a fever.”
“I don’t feel hot.” If anything, I felt cold.
“You’re shaking a little. Do you have the chills?”
I went to answer, but then my stomach turned over. Groaning, I lurched forward and retched again. And again. And again.
“Wait there,” said Dane.
Where did he think I was going to fucking go?
I kept on heaving as my stomach lurched, twisted, and cramped. Soon, Dane was at my side again, rubbing my back. How he was able to stay in the room when the stench was so vile, I had no idea.
The contractions eventually eased off again. I flushed the toilet once more and wiped my mouth with the fresh tissue Dane handed me. My shoulders drooping, I sat back on my haunches again. Feeling all hollowed out, I might have slumped to the tiled floor if Dane hadn’t steadied me.
“Here.” He gave me the bottle of water I’d earlier placed on my nightstand. “Don’t guzzle it down; take sips.”
Easy for him to say—the back of his throat wasn’t burning from bile. Still, I only took small sips of the water.
He rubbed a very gentle circle on my back. “The symptoms of stomach bugs and food poisoning are pretty similar.” He held up his phone for a moment, adding, “According to this website, you don’t need to go to Urgent Care or the ER unless you’ve got any of the symptoms listed. So far, the only one you have is the fever.”
My eyes fell closed. God, he’d Googled it. There was just something so endearing about it that my heart went all light and warm.
“I still think you should go to the ER.”
I shook my head. “I don’t need a doctor. I’ve had a bug before; I’ll be fine. But this is gonna be a rough night.” I blew out a shaky breath. “You don’t have to stay with me.”
He gave me a dark look. “You think I’d leave you when you’re sick?”
“What I think is that it reeks in here. No one would blame you for wanting fresh air or preferring to not watch someone hurl.”
“I’m staying.”
A cramp twisted my stomach again. I turned back to the toilet and heaved over and over and over. Until my stomach muscles ached.
I blinked my watery eyes and swayed toward the toilet, feeling shaky and depleted. “I forgot how much I hate being sick.”
“I really think you should see a doctor,” said Dane, concern creasing his brow.
I weakly shook my head. “Don’t need one.” What I needed was to stick close to this toilet.
His nostrils flared. “All right. But if you start showing any more of the food poisoning symptoms, I’m taking you to Urgent Care—I don’t give a damn what you say.”