Mr. Grey-Book I

38

Emilia

I woke to find myself face-to-face with Damien, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist. Gently, I touched his forehead. He was only slightly warm now, which meant his fever had subsided. Thank goodness.

Carefully, I loosened his hold and slipped out of bed without waking him. I padded to the kitchen, where Suzan was peering into the oven.

"Morning, Suzan," I said, reaching for the milk carton in the fridge.

She turned, smiling. "Good morning, dear. How's Damien? You two were sleeping so peacefully last night, I didn't want to disturb you."

I returned her smile. "He's better. His fever seems to have gone down a bit." I poured myself a glass of milk and drank it in one go, realizing how thirsty I was.

"That's good news," Suzan said. "Oh, a package came for you this morning." She reached into a drawer and handed me a small box. "I think it's from the hospital. Probably your medication."

I took it, remembering Damien's medication. "Thanks. Suzan, would you mind if I made breakfast?"

She chuckled. "Of course not. What did you have in mind?"

"Chicken soup."

"Sounds perfect. I'll be in the laundry room if you need any help," she said, leaving me to it.

Once alone, I gathered ingredients from the fridge and set about making the soup. I brought chicken broth to a boil, then added carrots, onion, garlic, and celery salt. Reducing the heat, I added chicken breast, covered the pot, and let it simmer.

Twenty minutes later, I removed the chicken, cut it into chunks, and returned it to the pot with some cilantro. As I cleaned up, I heard a raspy voice. "Emilia..."

I turned to see Damien standing there. He looked stronger, though his nose was still a bit red. "You should be in bed," I chided gently.

"And you should be resting," he countered, settling into a chair. "What are you making?"

"Chicken soup. I thought you might be hungry," I said, turning off the stove.

"Sure," he murmured.

I ladled soup into bowls. "It's still hot, so be careful," I warned, placing one in front of him. I sat beside him and tried to feed him, but he made a frustrated noise and took the spoon.

"I can manage," he said, a bit sharply.

I sighed. "I was just trying to help."

He grunted and began eating. I watched nervously as he took his first spoonful, worried it might be too salty or spicy.

"It's good," he said after a moment.

"Thanks," I mumbled, wishing for a more enthusiastic compliment. We ate in silence, Damien seeming lost in thought.

When he finished, I handed him his medication. He swallowed it without question, washing it down with water. "You should get some rest, Emilia," he said, his brow furrowing with concern.

"I will," I assured him. I reached out to feel his neck. "Your fever's gone," I smiled.

Silence fell between us. Then, unexpectedly, he traced his finger along my face. I closed my eyes, savoring the sensation.