Page 38 of Healed By the Grumpy Elf

Or that he cares. My heart is hammering so loudly in my chest I'm certain he must hear it. He stops at the bottom of the porch steps, maintaining a careful distance between us.

"Rylan called the clinic this morning. Millifred Primrose’s symptoms should be subduing by now. Given our past interaction with her, I thought it would be better if you joined me."

"How considerate of you," I say, unable to keep a hint of sarcasm from my voice. "And here I thought you were avoiding me."

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "I trust Mrs. Beckham gave you an update on Millie’s condition?"

"She did."

The tension between us is thick enough to cut with a scalpel. His ice-blue eyes are on me with all the warmth of a January morning, his sculpture-perfect face showing no trace of emotion. Even the tips of his long, pointed ears are perfectly still. There's something different about him today, a tightness around his mouth, a slight furrowbetween his brows. He’s even more uptight than usual, and I can’t help but feel the sting of it.

The door opens before either of us can say anything more, revealing Rylan Primrose looking disheveled in a way I've never seen before. His usually impeccable suit is replaced by jeans and a t-shirt, his dark hair standing up in odd places as if he's been running his hands through it repeatedly. His wings droop on his back, trailing on the floor.

"Thank goodness you're here," he says, his relief palpable. "Both of you. She's been up there all day, and the giggling is getting concerning. She’s tired and wants to sleep, but she simply can’t come down."

We step inside the elegant interior of the Primrose home. High ceilings, gleaming hardwood floors, tasteful artwork. But there's also a subtle disarray that speaks to the chaos of having a child with Pixie-Pox. A half-eaten sandwich abandoned on a side table, a scattered pile of mail, toys strewn across the floor.

"I've tried everything," Rylan continues as he leads us upstairs. "The ice pops worked for a few days, but this morning she took one bite, started laughing, and floated straight up to the ceiling. She's been there since breakfast."

"Has she been able to eat or drink anything else?" Lorian asks, his clinical tone firmly in place.

"Not really. I managed to get a straw up to her with some water, but she laughed most of it out."

We follow Rylan down the hallway to Millie's bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, and I can hear the high-pitched, manic giggles that characterize advanced Pixie-Pox. Rylan pushes the door open fully, revealing a scene that momentarily stops both Lorian and me in our tracks.

Millie's bedroom, with its lavender walls and canopy bed, has been transformed. Dozens, no, hundreds of helium balloons in every color of the rainbow are tied to every conceivable surface. They float at various heights, creating a whimsical, suspended garden effect. And near the ceiling hovers Millie herself, her small body shaking with uncontrollable laughter.

"I got the balloons hoping she might grab on to them and float down," Rylan explains, his voice tinged with helplessness. "But she thinks they're hilarious, which only makes the floating worse."

I step carefully into the balloon forest, looking up at Millie with what I hope is a reassuring smile. Her freckles glow brightly against her pale skin, and her dark hair floats around her head in a chaotic halo, occasionally changing color from violet to bright pink and back again.

"Hi there, Millie," I call up to her. "That's quite a balloon collection you've got."

“Nurse Maeve! I can't stop laughing!” Her giggles intensify. “And look at my balloon forest!”

Lorian comes to stand behind me, looking completely out of place among the sea of floating balloons. His tall frame seems too rigid, too serious for this whimsical chaos. We exchange a glance and there’s no doubting the concern in his gaze.

This isn’t good. Millie’s Pixie-Pox is not taking the usual route.

"Dr. Elf!" Millie calls out, spotting him. "You came too! My freckles won't stop glowing!"

"Yes, Millifred. That's why we're here," Lorian replies, his voice softening slightly, as it always does when he addresses children. As his perfect lips stretch in a soft, professional smile, my heart patters another round of flip-flops in my chest.

He really is too handsome for my own good.

"We need to examine you. Can you try to come down?"

"I can't!" She giggles. "Every time I think about coming down, I think about how funny it is that I can't come down, and then I laugh more, and then I go up higher!"

I exchange another glance with Lorian.

"What if we made it into a game?" I suggest, turning back to Millie. "Imagine you're a beautiful butterfly landing on a flower. Butterflies don't laugh when they land; they're very quiet and gentle."

Millie's giggles subside slightly as she considers this. "Like when I visit the butterfly garden with Daddy?"

"Exactly like that." I nod encouragingly. "Can you be a quiet butterfly for me?"

She scrunches up her face in concentration, her giggles tapering off momentarily. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she begins to descend from the ceiling.