Page 21 of Unspoken Love

“Fine, but I’ll come check up on you during my break.”

“Okay,” she said quickly.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked when he stood up.

“I’m fine.” She touched his hand gently.

“Where is your phone?” He glanced around the room.

“Downstairs, on the coffee table,” she said after remembering where she’d left it.

He stood up and disappeared. When he returned, he held out her phone. “Call or text me if anything changes.” He started to hand her the phone but stopped and, instead, held it up to her face to unlock the screen then pulled it back and started typing. “I’m putting Dr. Stevens’ number in here,” he said as he worked on the screen. “There, now, if you need help, call him first, then me second.” He handed her the phone.

“Thanks,” she said as she sat it beside her on the nightstand.

“I’ll bring you something to eat when I return in”—he glanced at his watch—“two hours.”

“Thanks,” she said again, sinking into the pillows.

She thought about getting up, showering, and getting dressed, but then the buzzing started in her head again and she closed her eyes until the pain let up a little.

The pain had ebbed to a dull pressure behind her eyes, like something sleeping but still there, lurking. She didn’t fight the fatigue. Instead, she allowed herself to sink deeper under the covers, wrapped in the warmth of the blankets and the faint trace of cedarwood that Nate had left behind.

When she opened her eyes again, an hour had passed.

Her limbs felt heavy, but the sharp edge of the implant’s buzzing had completely faded. She moved slowly, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and padding toward the bathroom. The mirror showed someone pale, tired, and not quite herself, but not as bad as she had feared.

She showered under warm water until her muscles loosened, the steady pressure soothing her body and her nerves. She found a couple of new bruises on her knees and elbows, no doubt from falling on the tile floor.

By the time she stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, she was more awake, more herself.

She dressed in soft leggings and a hoodie, adequate attire for work or home and pulled her long hair into a loose braid. She was just putting on a pair of thick socks when she heard the knock at the front door.

She headed down the stairs and opened the door. Nate was standing there, holding a cardboard drink tray and a brown paper bag in one hand, a small white bakery box in the other.

“Well, someone looks more alive,” he said, smiling gently.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she replied, opening the door wider. “But I’m upright. For now.”

“Good enough for me.” He stepped inside, toeing off his boots. “I come bearing gifts.”

She followed him into the kitchen, where he unpacked the food onto the table.

“Breakfast sandwich, egg and cheddar. One with bacon, one without, I wasn’t sure. And donuts, the good kind. An apple fritter the size of your head. Coffee. Oh, and…” He held up a bottle from his jacket pocket like it was treasure. “Extra-strength Tylenol.”

Faye let out a small laugh, warmth blooming behind her ribs. “You’re basically a hero.”

He gave her a crooked smile and set everything down. “Nah. Heroes wear capes. I just know where the bakery keeps the good stuff.”

For a few minutes, he watched her eat, then he started talking about work, and she let herself enjoy the moment—the food, the company, the steady presence of someone who, for some reason, made her feel safe.

“Thanks,” she said softly, halfway through her sandwich. “For everything.”

His gaze met hers across the table. “Anytime. Really. How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” she said after a second of assessing herself. Her head was no longer buzzing, and she felt energized. “The sugar helped, I suppose.” She smiled.

Nate gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Still, I want you take the rest of the day to rest. Clover and I can handle the shop.”