Page 35 of Lightness In My Dark

The bed dipped, and the cold air hit from the removal of the covers. Wren had her hand over her mouth, pacing the room. She looked miserable. When she noticed I was awake, she averted my gaze.

Wren walked the room with meek steps. She sounded like Vito Corleone when she asked, “What happened? Why am I in your bed?” I explained how she got sick in hers, and her shoulders softened.

“Why don’t you come back and lie down?”

Her fingers pressed against her mouth, swallowing whatever tried to creep up. “I’m trying to avoid getting sick again.”

My hands rested behind my head, watching her fight to keep from vomiting. She appeared weak and tired. It was a tension-filled night for her, and it showed. Wren sat, taking in deep breaths, and ran her hand along the back of the chair.

With her face crumpled in confusion, she asked, “What is this exactly?” Her hand caressed the pewter nail heads.

“It’s a Tantra chair.” She angled her head at me, so I clarified. “A sex chair. It enhances sexual positions.” Wren rocketed off it. The quick movement had her running into the washroom again.

I laughed at her aversion to the chair. When done, she slouched her body as she held her stomach, continuing to walk around the room.

“Come here, Wren.”

It seemed painful for her to turn her head toward me. “I hurt. My head. My stomach. Everything.”

“I’ll help you feel better.” Wren gasped and then I hurried to squash her assumptions. “Nothing sexual. Come here.”

I tossed the covers open. She crawled into bed, but I hauled her between my thighs, and she yelped. Her entire body rigid.

“Wren, calm down. I’m not going to hurt you or do anything sexual.” Her tension lifted. “Lean back against my chest.” She did, and then I drew the covers up to her waist. My hands slid under her shirt to her stomach and her hands grasped them. “I’m rubbing your stomach. My mom used to do this when I was a kid.” Her nervousness evaporated as I put one hand over the other and traced circles over her abdomen. It wasn’t long before her head fell to the side, a light nasal snore, and a drop of drool hanging from her lower lip.

The sun pierced through a small slit in the blinds. I rose to find a heaviness on my chest. Dazed from sleep, I opened my eyes to find Wren. She had nestled her head under my chin, facing away from the bathroom, chest to mine, and legs on each side of my hips. My hand rested right below her ass cheek while the other lazily caressed her shoulder. I glanced at the clock. 10:30 am. I had to piss, but I didn’t want to wake her. Wren fussed, rubbed her nose into my chest, and realized something was off. With a sluggishness, she lifted her head to meet my eyes.

I smiled and wished her a good morning. She tried to maneuver away without touching me. A cruel thing to do. I watched her struggle until she rolled to the side, yanking the covers up to her chin. I took the moment to relieve myself.

When I got out, I handed her a glass of water with aspirin. “Let’s get something in your stomach.”

She let out a loud groan. “No.” Her head fell back on the pillow. “I can’t even think about food.”

I tossed the covers off her and scooped her up. Stunned by my brashness, she tried covering her butt with the T-shirt. I put her down in her room. “I’ll see you in the kitchen.”

“But Finn—”

“Trust me, you’ll feel much better. We’ll find something easy for your stomach.”

Downstairs, Chef Dan was doing some prep work before heading home. I greeted him and asked, “Do we have something easy on the stomach? Wren is hungover.”

Chef Dan laughed as I heard the French doors open and close. Cole came into the kitchen.

Chef Dan said, “I’ll make her some oatmeal. That should help her.”

Cole asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Wren is hungover.”

We all moved around the kitchen, getting what we needed before sitting down. Halfway through my coffee, Wren wobbled down the stairs, hunched over, dark circles under her eyes. She slid into a chair and rested her forehead against her hands.

Chef Dan brought over a cup of tea and oatmeal. She sat back, folded her arms, and wrinkled her nose.

I leaned forward. “Drink something, or you’ll dehydrate, if you aren’t already. I’m telling you; the oatmeal will help.”

Wren pouted before taking a sip of tea. She took her time with small spoonfuls of oatmeal and sips of tea.

Cole asked Wren, “Did you at least have fun?”

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