Page 63 of Romantic

Engaged. I can’t believe Jack was engaged. I go from feeling hopeful and excited about Brandon to feeling sick and humiliated that I ever dated Jack—that I was the other woman. The others follow Edward into the kitchen for dinner. But I’m waiting for Brandon. Since we talked on the phone, I’ve been half-listening to his movements through the floorboards. I’m pretty sure he finished his shower and returned to his room. Normally, I’d just run upstairs and check, but I’m still adjusting to my walking cast. I give him a call. No answer. I hang up, and seconds later, my phone rings. It’s Brandon.

“Annie?” His voice sounds scratchy.

“Are you still coming down for dinner?”

“Is it time? Sorry, I fell asleep again. I think I’m sick.”

“Oh no! Do you need anything?”

“More sleep.”

“Would it help if I had Pepper sleep in my room tonight?”

“You don’t need to do that,” says a very weary Brandon.

“Just like you didn’t need to carry me down a mountain.”

“I needed to do that.”

“And I need to do this.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind if someone else did the whole marathon bedtime routine.”

“Good, you go back to sleep.”

He chuckles softly. “You have no idea what you just signed up for.”

***

After dinner, Pepper and I go upstairs to check on Brandon. He must be exhausted, because he doesn’t stir when Pepper flips the light on. Or when my cast goes clunk, clunk, clunk against the wooden floorboards as I walk to his side of the bed.

I take in sleeping Brandon. His hair looks damp. I wonder if he has a fever. I put a hand on his forehead. It’s burning—definitely a fever.

“Brandon,” I whisper. “We brought you dinner.” His eyes open and lock on mine.

“Annie!” He breaks out into a drowsy smile.

“Yes, and Pepper,” I say. Pepper is busy grabbing what she needs to sleep in my room. “I think you have a fever. You should take some Tylenol.”

“I don’t feel so good.” It’s a small statement, but from Brandon who is relentlessly stoic, this admission makes me nervous. Though it makes sense—even a body as strong as Brandon’s must have its limits. He carried me down a mountain in the rain, and he barely slept all night.

I can’t help it; I stroke his fevered brow like a nurse caring for a wounded soldier. If we were alone, I’d kiss his forehead, but I am well aware that Pepper’s watching me closely.

He reaches up and clasps my hand resting on his forehead. He might be sick, but his grip is still firm.

“Don’t go.” The urgency in his voice stops me.

“We can stay for a little bit. Maybe while you eat dinner.”

“That would be nice.” He lets go of my hand and closes his eyes. In a moment I can hear his steady breathing. He’s fallen back asleep.

“What should we do?” Pepper asks.

“Let him sleep. But first he should take some medicine for that fever and drink some water.”

“Good luck waking him back up,” Pepper says. “He sleeps like a bear.”

I gently shake his shoulder, all the while keenly aware that I’m touching Brandon. He might be sick, but he’s still a fine-looking man. I can’t believe I ever disparaged his appearance. His rugged looks are so different from Jack’s delicate features; it’s as if Jack were made of porcelain and Brandon carved from stone.