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I take a deep breath and inform her of the incident in the alley, detailing everything. She listens, her eyes wide, hand covering her mouth. Talking to her about it makes me feel something different. Safe, maybe. Cared for in a way I can’t quite explain. Her presence is grounding, pulling me out of the dark places in my head.

After I finish, I sigh, running a hand down the back of my head. “It’s just crazy, you know, if things had gone just a bit differently, one of us might not have walked away.”

Amelia’s eyes widen in concern. “Brad, that sounds terrifying. Are you okay?”

I smile at her. “Yeah, I’m all good.”

“You seem tense, though. Want me to massage your shoulders?” I look at her, trying my best not to scoff in disbelief. She’s literally fighting a bad case of food poisoning, has a temperature, and yet she’s more concerned about me and wanting to give me a massage.

She’s too selfless, too caring.

“I’m good. I promise.” I give her a small, grateful smile, shaking my head. “Thank you, though.”

Her words hang in the air, and I feel a warmth spread through me. The way she looks at me, with genuine concern and belief, it does something to me. Her hand finds mine, squeezing gently. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah, me, too,” I murmur, feeling the tension ease slightly. Talking to her makes it all seem less daunting. It’s a strange feeling, one I’m not used to, but one I think I could get used to. She shifts a little, and I look over at her. Her cheeks are flushed.

“You good?” I ask softly.

She nods, giving me a small smile. “Just feeling a bit tired. But this... this is nice.”

“Yeah, it is,” I agree, my voice barely above a whisper.

And it really is.

28

We lapse into a comfortable silence, and I find myself basking in the unexpected intimacy of the moment. Yet, my thoughts are consumed with concern for Bradley. The challenges he faces at work only deepen my worry. While his work is his own, I find myself drawn to hearing about it. His strength, both physical and mental, is truly admirable. In fact, it’s more than that—it’s compellingly attractive. My attraction to him is undeniable, almost overwhelming in its intensity.

Despite these thoughts, that same feeling from earlier hits me like a ton of bricks. The impending dread, and a bubble forms in my throat. I swallow hard, hoping the urge will pass.

Oh, no. God, please notnow. But no matter how hard I try to push this feeling down, a new wave of nausea creeps up my oesophagus. Bradley seems to notice almost immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quickly.

I can’t even respond. I leap up and dash to the bathroom, barely making it before flipping open the toilet lid and letting out the most unladylike noise as I empty the contents of my stomach, includingmy mum’s soup. Tears start welling up from the pressure, and I feel utterly miserable. Bradley’s presence looms behind me, and mortification washes over me.

“No, Brad,” I say, holding up a hand to stop him, before hunching over the toilet again, spewing out more liquid. I could cry from the embarrassment of it all. “Brad—” I choke out between heaves. “Please, get out.”

“No, Amelia,” he says firmly, kneeling behind me.

“What are you doing?” I manage to gasp out, utterly bewildered.

“What does it look like? I’m taking care of you,” he replies. And at that, my heart does somersaults.

“You don’t need to take care of me.” I protest weakly.

He replies quickly, without batting an eyelid. “I know, but I’m here, so you don’t need to.” I can’t help but think thatthisis Bradley in theflesh.

Enthusiastic and bubbly? Rarely. Protectiveandcaring?Always.

He is so selfless, always willing to help others in need. In a way, I see a bit of myself in those traits—always ready to lend a helping hand, always willing to nurture someone else. I take a few deep breaths, but the heat intensifies. I feel like I’m burning up. I try to take off my hoodie, but fail miserably. It gets stuck halfway over my head, squishing my face. I let out a frustrated laugh. This can’t get any worse.

Bradley’s hands are near mine, gripping my hoodie and pulling it off in one quick movement. The relief is immediate, but it’s short-lived as he places the back of his hand on my forehead. Hisbrows furrow, concern etched on his face. “You’re burning up, Mills,” he says, his voice soft yet worried.

Everything about his touch feels both intimate and not at the same time. Hearing him call me ‘Mills’ sends a flutter through my chest. Amanda’s the only one who calls me that, so for him to pick up on it feels strangely personal.

“This is not a good look. I’m sorry,” I mumble.