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“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“What’s going on?” He approached the bed where she was curled under the covers and sat on the edge, his gaze flickering over her face.
“I feel like crap.”
“Okay.” He touched a hand to her forehead. “You’re running a slight temperature.” He glanced at the uneaten meal on the table. “Not hungry?”
“I’m not sick.” She tried to sound normal, but her voice came out sounding husky. “It is just a slight cold or a stomach virus. I do not get sick.”
“If you say so.” He tried to hide the glimmer of smile, but did not quite succeed.
“You think I am being silly.”
“Not at all.”
“I do not get sick. I do not have time to be sick. I have to work…”
“How about I get you some tea. This one has become cold.”
“Oh, dammit.”
“What?”
“I’m sick, aren’t I?”
“It would appear so.” He started to get up when she grabbed his hand.
“I feel as if I am dying.”
He just managed to tamp down the laughter.
“I thought you were not sick.”
“I am. My throat feels funny, and I am nauseous.”
“Nauseous?” Something leapt inside him, and he held his breath for a second. “You did not mention that.”
“I threw up twice at work and my tastebuds are shot. I was trying out a new dessert – a combination of strawberries and cherries and it tasted bland. I could not taste the cinnamon or the ginger. But the girls said it tasted fantastic.”
“Perhaps we should consult a physician in the morning.”
“Why? It is just a stupid bug. I am not going to make a big deal out of it. Some soup and herbal tea will do the trick.”
“What have you taken?” He looked around and saw remnants of some cold medicine.
“I hate taking pills, so I took some Nyquil.”
“How do you feel now?”
“I still feel lousy, and my appetite is non-existent.”
“What about the tea?”
“I don’t want you to leave.” She clung to his hand. “What if I have relapse while you’re gone?”
“Seriously?”