Page 34

CHAPTER 34 VI?T

He stayed late into the night at the apartment—and never left. The reason? Initially Kale offered them a place to crash after Lis voiced her reluctance to move after the festivities—more food, more drinks. And how could Viet think of going home after being this close to Evie, after having her head on his shoulder for most of the night?

Kale and Tate retreated to their bed, and the girls took the sofa while Viet slid into a sleeping bag. Lying close to Evie’s sofa—Tate placed it there, not him—he summoned his courage to reach up to grab her hand. He held his breath as she played with his fingers before interlacing them. They chatted about everything and nothing, and it took an hour for them to finally fall asleep; that was fine.

What wasn’t fine: Viet waking up flustered and sweaty. Up was a stretch because he couldn’t lift his head, and he was now on the couch, wrapped tightly under piles of blankets. The girls were gone. And he was alone, with a small tickle in his throat and a body that felt overheated.

He tried to move again but was too weak, so he gave up until Evie sank down to her knees, bowl and spoon in hand.

He must be hallucinating. He must. Was she going to feed him?

Clearly last night didn’t happen. Clearly there was no confession; he dreamt everything and was still dreaming.

“Finally you’re awake. You became feverish overnight.” She freed her hand to brush his hair out of his eyes, her touch light and caring. His fingers encircled her wrist. Her cool touch told him that this wasn’t a dream, then.

“I’m sick?”

“Yep, it’s your turn.” She picked up the bowl and spoon. “This is the leftover porridge that you made. The others are out to restock meds.”

“And you stayed behind?”

“Of course.” She stirred the porridge, breaking eye contact. “I should be the one to care for you, right? Especially since I got you sick.”

“Is that the only reason?” Blame his bold question on his feverish state or on his elation over the fact that everything—the reveal, the kiss, their intertwined hands—had all happened.

The spoon fell in the bowl. “Well also because… we’re together now.”

Ah, that sounded good. Her quick confirmation chased away all his summoned boldness, a reaction that his girlfriend caught. “O-oh, we are,” he stuttered. Evie’s bashful expression morphed into one of mischief.

“Yes, we’re boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Did you want to feed me? Is that why you tried to mummify me while I was asleep?” he had asked.

“What?” she said in mock outrage. “I was just trying to make sure you were warm enough.”

“I could barely move my arms.”

“You know what, never mind.” She dramatically got up with the bowl and started walking away. Viet knew she was joking, but all rationale stopped working, and he got up to pursue her, when he tripped on the throw and—

THUMP.

Evie turned around and her mock composure broke. Here he was, on the ground before her… again.

“You good down there?” she asked, an undercurrent of laughter in her voice.

He moaned. “Just let me be.”

Of course she didn’t leave him alone. Accepting her offered hand, Viet pulled himself up and sat upright on the couch. It took another second for him to understand that she hadn’t meant to spoon-feed him; she was only bringing it over to him. The broth was flavorful and savory enough that he kept eating until he had enough to warm his throat and ease its dryness.

The next time he came to, he wasn’t alone because Evie, at some point, had climbed up, nestling close so that he was pushed against the sofa’s backrest. Her upper body brushed against him in a whole new way, eliciting a barely contained moan. Ever so slowly, he placed his right arm over her. He wasn’t sure if he meant to loosely embrace her. Or if it was to bring her closer, even in slumber.

Honestly, he didn’t care, and he drifted right back to sleep.