Page 23 of Adored by the Grumpy Ghost (Mapletown Monster Mates #1)

Winston

M y Natalie has been gone for three hours.

I’ve hated every minute we’ve been apart.

Even looking at the grandfather clock in the study heightens my anger.

I’m beginning to despise it. The big hand taunts me with each tick.

I’ve spent the time with my sketchbook and charcoal pencil, filling up the pages that have remained blank for months.

When I pause, adding a new line to my drawing, my gaze travels to that big hand on the clock, hoping it’s made much more progress than it actually has.

I understand she needs to work, but knowing I’m stuck here while she’s able to roam the world freely leaves me feeling unsettled.

What if something happens to her out there?

I can catch her when she falls off the counter here, but I’m powerless if something like that happens at the bar.

Will Dominic be there to catch her? Or what if something worse occurs, like a car accident, or she gets caught in the middle of a monster brawl?

I won’t be there to get her to safety. My pencil snaps between my fingers at the thought.

Gray smudges cover my palm and fingertips, and I grab a tissue to wipe them off with a frustrated grunt.

Dominic better keep his hands to himself.

If he touches her…well, what can I do? Not much, unless he comes here.

Perhaps there’s a way to lure him here under false pretenses.

All he needs to do is cross the property line and I can…

No. I can’t waste my time thinking about hypotheticals.

Tossing my sketchbook onto the desk with a huff, I start thinking about what to make Natalie for dinner. She prefers to eat here, despite getting a free meal at the bar each shift, since most of the food there comes out of the deep fryer.

A mushroom risotto, perhaps? Or is it too hot out for something like that?

Maybe a Greek salad with grilled chicken and garlic breadsticks on the side.

I know that’s one of her favorites, and she has yet to taste mine.

I’m certain she’ll find mine to be the best she’s ever had. No other Greek salad will ever compare.

A car horn blares from the driveway, pulling me from my thoughts.

It beeps once, then several quick beeps follow it.

The familiar screech of the brake pads tells me it’s Natalie’s car, and something must be terribly wrong.

I become mist and shoot through the floors down to the front door, flying through it.

The headlights are blinding as I reach the driveway, but once my eyes adjust, I see a hulking man with green skin emerging from the driver’s seat of Natalie’s car.

“Hey man, Natalie’s sick,” he says, racing around to the passenger side as Natalie throws the door open and retches on the gravel.

I race to her side, shoving Dominic out of the way.

Her forehead is burning and clammy against the back of my hand, and her skin is pallid, lacking its usual pretty pink flush.

I knew she shouldn’t have gone to work. Whipping around, I face Dominic with a clenched fist, grabbing the collar of his shirt with my free hand.

A growl rumbles up my throat, and I start to see red.

“What have you done to her? If your repulsive germs are to blame for this, I will fucking destroy you.”

“Out of the way!” Natalie shouts, covering her mouth and racing inside the house.

Dominic slips from my grasp, holding his hands up in surrender. “Easy, bud. I didn’t do a damn thing. I’m just bringin’ her home.”

There’s a subtle twang to his speech, indicating that he grew up somewhere in the South.

Some may find it charming. I find it obnoxious.

He’s as muscular as Natalie described, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his t-shirt in such a blatant way I want to laugh.

Can he not find shirts in a bigger size?

I’d offer the suggestion if I weren’t so worried about Natalie.

“I think it’s the flu,” he notes calmly. “I told her to take tomorrow off, and however long she needs.”

I step toward him, crowding his space, my teeth gritted. How can he know that? What if it’s food poisoning, or something more serious? Is this “underwear model” and bartender also a doctor all of a sudden? “How does a human pick up a virus in a bar filled with monsters?”

I expect him to match my fury, slam his fist into my cheek, even, but he doesn’t. Dominic seems concerned for Natalie, but unbothered by my interrogation. Why are his shoulders so loose?

He takes a step back and scratches the stubble on his chin as he considers the source of Natalie’s sickness.

“We have other humans in town, and even though they wield magic, the witches can also contract human viruses. She probably caught it from someone who came into the bar. It happens, especially with the witches who have kids in school.” He chuckles.

“Those youngsters are always sick with somethin’. ”

We both turn toward the house when we hear Natalie getting sick in the bathroom down the hall, the front door still open. Dominic takes a step in her direction, but I block his path. “She’s not yours to care for, bud . Leave. Now.”

Dominic smirks. “Winston, my man, I’m not tryin’ to steal your girl.

Pinky swear.” He extends his green pinky finger, looking at me expectantly.

When I don’t return the gesture, he drops his hand to his side.

“Look, I’m sorry we’re meetin’ this way, but I’m well aware that Natalie is yours.

She talks about you all the time. Besides, she’s my employee.

I’m not lookin’ to cross that line.” He hands me the keys to her car. “Here. I can walk back.”

“Winston!” Natalie shouts from the doorway. “Stop harassing my boss!” Her hand clamps over her mouth just as she spins and runs back to the bathroom.

My Natalie needs me. I can’t waste any more time out here with this fool.

Dominic starts walking down the gravel driveway. He waves a hand over his shoulder. “Till we meet again, neighbor. Hope it’s on friendlier terms next time.” He begins whistling a tune I can’t name as he strolls into the darkness.

Part of me is disappointed I didn’t get a chance to sock him in the mouth––arrogant jackass with his tiny shirt––but he makes that a difficult task to complete with his unwavering tranquil mood. At least he brought Natalie home. I’ll give her everything she needs.

I become mist and fly the short distance from the driveway to the downstairs bathroom, where Natalie is resting her head on the toilet bowl, groaning in agony.

Shifting back to my corporeal form, I take the spare elastic off her wrist and use it to tie her blonde curls into a knot against her nape.

Then, I grab a washcloth off the shelf above the toilet and run it under the faucet until the water turns cold.

Squeezing the excess water from it, I sink down onto my knees behind Natalie, lifting her head and pressing the cloth to her forehead.

“Mm, thas good,” she mumbles, her voice scratchy from sickness, or yelling at me, perhaps. “Please don’t say, I told you so .”

I chuckle as I rub circles over her back. “I won’t. It’s only fun teasing you when you can fight back.”

“Thank god.”

“We can have this discussion in a few days when you’re feeling better.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You adore me. Don’t deny it.”

She retches again, and I’m not sure how to take that. I continue to rub her back until she’s done. Her stomach must be empty at this point. She lays her head on the toilet seat and lets out a long whimper.

Pretty soon, her joints will start cramping up, and exhaustion will take over. I don’t want her to pass out in here. “Let’s get you off the floor and into bed.”

“Mm okay.”

I carefully pull her into my arms and carry her up the stairs as if she were my bride, and we’re crossing the threshold.

Her eyes remain pinched shut as I gently lay her down on the bed, pulling the sheet over her.

I leave the blanket folded back, since her hair is damp with sweat.

I don’t want her overheating. The AC is on high, but it doesn’t seem to be cooling her down.

“I’ll be back in a flash,” I whisper before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She grunts and turns on her side, curling into the fetal position.

I race around the house, gathering a clean bucket, tissues, a glass of water, and a thermometer.

“Everything okay in here? I heard yelling from the driveway,” Ethel hollers from the foyer. Her dirty gloved hands are clutching a basket full of cucumbers and tomatoes to her chest.

“We’re fine, Ethel,” I reply. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it handled.”

I appreciate her offer to help, but I want to…no, need to care for Natalie alone, if only to prove to myself that I can.

“Very well,” she says. I hear the front door shut behind her.

Relieved, I rush back to Natalie’s side.

“Open up,” I tell her, lightly poking her lips with the end of the thermometer.

She frowns but eventually opens for me. Her temperature is 102.

9 degrees, and I know that 103 or higher would be cause for concern.

She should be admitted to the hospital if it gets any higher than it is.

I can’t let that happen. If she’s taken to the hospital, I won’t be able to go with her, won’t be able to make sure they’re taking proper care of her.

I need to nurse her back to health myself.

If I can’t manage that, do I have any right to want to claim her as my own?

I notice a stain on her shirt, likely from her retching, and droplets of it linger on her chin.

Taking her hand, I help her into a seated position, using the washcloth to clean her face.

She leans into my touch, moaning quietly at the feel of my palm on her cheek.

I’m reluctant to release her, but this isn’t about me.

I go through her dresser and find one of the oversized t-shirts she prefers to wear to bed. “Arms up, gorgeous.”