Page 119 of The Thought of You

My stomach rolls, and the cramps worsen as a lump climbs up my throat.

“You know, I’ve never seen him this happy,” she muses wistfully right before she disappears through the open door.

I revel in her admission and what that means for Owen and me for only a moment before I need the bathroom to throw up for the sixth time. Or is it the ninth? I’ve totally lost count.

The guzzling cry of a mower prompts me awake.

I must’ve dozed off again after my last fit. Puking my guts out really takes it out of me. I’ve never had food poisoning before, and it’s exactly as bad as I always thought it would be—and worse.

When does it go away?

I check the time on my phone, noting it’s almost six. Next to my phone, I find a plate wrapped in aluminum foil and a note that just says, “Eat me.”

I opt for the water to wet my sore throat, then close my eyes again.

I have the weirdest dreams. One starts with Owen standing at the foot of my bed, his cheeks dotted with dirt and flakes of grass. He kneels beside me and dabs a cool, wet washcloth along my forehead—it’s refreshing.

Then he kisses my temple and disappears.

I want to call out to him and beg him to stay, but my voice doesn’t work. It’s like my lips are sealed shut. My heart aches for him to come back, but everything darkens again.

In another dream, he holds my hair back while I hurl into the toilet. I’d be embarrassed in real life, but since this is a dream, I feel free to do what needs to be done.

And he doesn’t say anything. Rather, Owen simply rubs circles on my back, and when I’m finished, he carries me back to my bed, where he gently lays me down. How can he be so gentle? He’s a muscular giant with the strength of freaking Captain America. Yet his gentle caress along my forehead is like that of a feather.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers as he smooths my hair back.

All the dreams end the same too, with him walking away and me desperate to call out to him, but I don’t. Nothing ever leaves my mouth, and the ache in my chest vibrates with sadness throughout my whole body.

chapter

thirty-eight

ADDIE

I trudge out of my bedroom and down the hall, feeling worse than I ever have after any hangover or flu combined.

Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms, I run into the wall, disoriented after fifteen hours of sleep and odd dreams.

In the living room, I smell fresh linens. Am I imagining it? It definitely smelled like sage and burned pancakes yesterday morning when I left for work.

I blink several times, then scan the couch, coffee table, and rug. They’re all clean. Everything is spotless.

My jaw drops as I take in the fluffed throw pillows and the stainless corner of the rug. Before my mother left, she informed me of a tea spill and that it was bad luck to clean it up, so she left it.

It’s become obvious to me over the years that she makes shit up, and it’s mostly because she wants out of responsibility.

But there’s no tea stain. No trash or dirty cups strewn about. No sign there were rowdy, ill-mannered people here at all.

I rub my hands up and down my arms, which no longer tremble under the curse of chills and body aches. Right now, my skin just crawls with a different kind of feeling—one I’ve never been keen on.

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I cautiously meander into the kitchen, and sure enough, it matches the living room. The sink is free of any dish, drop, or mark. The stove and counter sparkle, and the windows have been wiped down too.

The only difference in here is that fresh flowers sit in a vase in the center of the breakfast table. It’s a beautiful arrangement, with greenery interspersed among pale yellow, white, and orange blooms. Those definitely did not come from my property.

Which means someone got me flowers.

It’s probably the same someone who brought a box of muffins from Bready or Knot. The yellow-and-white striped box is tucked under the flowers, and I open the top to take a whiff, testing the strength of my stomach for the day.

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