Page 138 of The Holiday Clause

“Nine? Isn’t it eight, after Odin’s eight-legged horse?”

“Rudolph,” he mumbled into the pillow. He was burning up yet somehow chilled to the bone and damp with sweat. His teeth chattered. “Do we need wood for the fire?”

“It’s warm in here, and the fire’s fine, Grey. I think you have a cold. A mean one.” Her cool fingers brushed over his brow like a divine blessing. He shut his eyes and sighed at her sweet touch. She smoothed out his blankets and adjusted some of the throw pillows. “I’ll make some lemon ginger tea with honey. That’ll help with your scratchy throat.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he grumbled weakly but she had already moved toward the kitchen.

Pots clanked as cabinets opened and closed. Water ran, followed by the faint sound of chopping. What was she doing in there? It sounded like a lot for tea. He felt too tired to think about it.

Rat scaled the couch, and Greyson coughed, the sound wicked and dry, ripping through him like fire. The kitten paddedover to him, concerned and wearing an expression of pure feline judgment.

He reached for the little puff ball, then hesitated. “Can cats catch human colds?”

Wren carried a steaming mug of tea out to the living room and set it on the table. “I don’t think so.”

His body ached everywhere but he forced himself to sit up. Rat climbed up his chest and nestled into his neck, using his shoulder as a balcony.

“You look terrible. Maybe we should call the clinic and see if you can get in to see the doctor.”

“I’m fine.” He winced, head throbbing and throat burning. He definitely felt anything but fine.

“Sure you are, tough guy.” She handed him the tea. “It’s a tincture, so it’s already steeped.”

He tried not to whimper as he reached for the mug.

“Smells good,” he croaked, breathing in the fresh scent of ginger as the mug warmed in his hands. Staying awake required great focus. He almost spilled the mug when he shivered. “I’m freezing.”

“Keep the blankets on.” She bundled him up like a Jedi master, brushing her cool fingers over his forehead again. God, he loved when she did that.

Such vulnerability felt foreign to him and he didn’t like being this dependent on someone else’s care. His father would say he was being weak.

Greyson spent most of his adult life being the one who took care of others, who solved problems and fixed things. Being on the receiving end of such gentle attention should have made him uncomfortable, but with Wren, it felt right.

“I think you have a fever. The soup should be done soon.”

His brows lifted. “Soup?”

“It’s Freya’s recipe.” Freya was the new chef at The Haven, but he’d yet to try any of her food.

Wren pulled a pillow onto her lap and watched him with concern. She took Rat from his shoulder so he could drink the tea. The fuzzy little bastard didn’t realize how lucky he was to have her hands on him, stroking and caressing. Greyson couldn’t help but envy the little rodent.

“You didn’t have to trouble yourself with soup?—“

“I know I didn’t, but I wanted to. Your body needs medicine, and Mother Nature’s comes in the form of soup.”

His muscles ached as he reached for her hand. “You’ve been here all day?”

“I left to pick up some items at the market and then stopped back at The Haven to teach my yoga class, but that turned into a bust.”

“Wh-uh-uh—” His chest spasmed with a vicious cough, and he quickly set down his tea. Each breath a hard punch in the lungs.

As soon as he managed to draw a full breath, Wren handed him the mug. “Take a sip.”

He did as she instructed, and the hot honey soothed his burning throat. “Why was your class a bust?” Every word was gravel scraping over smashed glass.

“Only two people showed up. One of them included Drummond.”

So the CEO was still in town. “When’s the douchebag checking out?”