Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Why is Stacey calling me this early anyway? She knows I’m not in Chicago. Something could be wrong, and I need to call her back as soon as I leave the house. The coffee starts brewing as I look for the thermometer, finding it in the cabinet Chloe said it would be in. I go back upstairs to check on her as the smell of coffee fills the air.
“Chloe?” I say softly, not wanting to wake her up, but also not wanting to startle her. She hasn’t moved since I left the room only minutes ago. Moving slowly so I don’t wake her, I cross the room and sink down on the edge of the bed and gently push her hair back. Her skin is hot, and I don’t have to check the numbers on the thermometer to know she has a fever.
“Babe,” I say gently and pull the top blanket off of her shoulders and put the thermometer against her forehead.
“Sam,” she groans, smiling slightly as her eyes flutter open. “What are you—oh.”
The thermometer beeps, little digital screen glowing red. “Fuck,” I mutter. “You gotta unwrap from all those blankets.”
“I’m cold.”
I set the thermometer down and lay in bed next to her, slipping my arms around her, using my body heat to keep her warm. “You have a really high fever, and I need to see if it goes down if you unwrap.”
“How high?” Her voice is a little hoarse.
“Hundred and three point four. For an adult, that’s high. Sometimes being all bundled up can cause a false high reading,” I say, which I’m hoping for.
“Okay. But I’m cold,” she repeats.
“You don’t have to totally uncover, but you shouldn’t be this bundled.” I sit up and roll the comforter down, leaving the top sheet and a soft blanket over her. She has the chills and starts shaking right away. “I think you might have the flu, babe.”
“No, it’s just a cold.”
“You went from feeling not-so-hot to really sick fast, plus you have a high fever. That sounds like the flu to me, but what do I know, right?”
Chloe blinks her eyes open. “My five minutes of Google searching my symptoms trumps your years of med school. And I have a cold. Or that fast six-hour flu.”
“I don’t think that’s an actual thing.”
“Google says I’m right. So I’m right, you know.”
“Oh, trust, me. Enough patients have challenged me on it. I know.”
She smiles and then closes her eyes. “Fine. I’ll admit that I feel pretty bad.”
“You took something for the fever?”
“Yeah, a while ago. Advil.”
“I’m going to get you some cold water and see if there is any Tylenol. You can alternate between the two to try and keep your fever down.”
“Thanks,” she groans, and I brush her hair back, hating seeing her like this. “The headache is back and it’s killing me.”
“I’ll get you something.” I kiss her forehead and go back into the kitchen, filling up a glass with ice water before rooting around in the cabinet to look for medicine for Chloe. My phone, which is still on the counter, buzzes again. Anxiety prickles through me, reminding me again, how close I came to Chloe finding out the truth.
It’s Mom calling, and I’m sure she’s going to ask if Chloe and I are coming over for breakfast. I silence the call with the intent to call her back later. I take the water and medicine up to Chloe, who feebly sits up. She either put up a good front yesterday of feeling well or she really did crash fast, which can happen with the flu. I’ve seen it knock healthy people on their ass for days and even end up hospitalized.
“I’m sorry I’m sick,” she tells me, taking the pills from my hand.
“Why in the world would you be sorry for getting sick?”
“You take care of sick people all day and now you have to take care of me.”
I sit on the bed next to her. “I like taking care of you, which is a first, actually. I like taking care of my patients, of course, but I’ve never had anyone in my life like you, Chloe.” My eyes fall shut as the words burn on my tongue. But I can’t tell her, not now when she’s falling asleep from both the cough medicine and from feeling ill.
“Good,” she mumbles. “I’ll say something romantic back when I feel better.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I love you.”
“I love you too.” She tips her head up to mine, eyes strained from the pain of her headache, and makes a move to kiss me but stops. “I don’t want to make you sick.”
“Like I said, I’ve already been exposed. Actually, how long have you felt sick?”
“When I got on the plane,” she tells me. “I thought if I ignored it, it would go away.”