Page 19 of Rose and the Grouch Next Door

Even now, my heart stutters at her beauty.

"Rose, can you hear me?" I lean closer, reaching out to brush the back of my hand against her cheek. It's hot to the touch and worry crashes over me.

Honeybun, sensing the gravity of the situation, whines softly. He seems to be begging me to do something.

"Alright, buddy," I murmur, "let's take care of our girl."

"Come on, Rose," I whisper, "I've got you."

I scoop Rose into my arms, her body limp and far too warm against mine. Her head lolls back, and she still doesn’t respond. Urgency moves me through the narrow hallway to the bathroom, with a clawfoot tub. I need to get her fever down, then decide if she needs the emergency room.

With one arm cradling Rose, I twist the taps, until it’s the perfect temperature to cool her without sending her body into shock. My fingers test the water, lingering for a moment as I brace for the next step.

"Forgive me, Rose," I whisper. Gently, I begin to undress her, efficiently removing her clothes, but not without an awareness of the intimacy of the act. Her skin, flushed from the fever, seems even more delicate now. I’m forcing myself to ignore every curve, every line of her body being exposed to my gaze as I complete the task.

Focus, Braxton.This isn’t about desire; it’s about necessity.

I lower her into the tub, supporting her head to keep it above water. The bath is almost clinical. Just swiping her fevered body with a cool cloth, wishing it were under different circumstances. This isn't how I imagined seeing all of her creamy, exposed curves for the first time.

Once it’s done, I lift her out, wrapping her in a towel, and patting her dry, avoiding any unnecessary lingering touches. On the hook, behind the door, hangs a cotton gown. Nothing revealing or sexy, just pretty and innocent. Like Rose.

I dress her, sliding the gown over her head, then tuck her into bed. Her breaths come easier now, less labored, but she still feels warm to the touch. Definitely not as warm as before.

Honeybun hovers nearby. "Come here, boy," I say softly, patting the space by Rose's feet. He hesitates, his gaze flickering between me and his owner. "It's okay. Stay with her."

He obeys, curling up in the spot next to her. I give him a “good boy” and a pat on the head before rising to look in Rose's kitchen for anything that might pass as food or medicine.

The cupboards are a disappointment. The fridge is no better: half-empty, except for a few questionable leftovers.

Pulling out my phone, I use a local grocery delivery app to order broth, tea, honey, fresh fruit, vegetables, some chicken, and basic essentials that should have already been in her kitchen. I add in a few comfort items, like ice cream, knowing she'll appreciate it when she's better. A call to the pharmacy and I’m also getting some over-the-counter medicine delivered.

Orders placed, I return to her side, lying over the colorful quilt, willing her to get better. I miss her sweet voice.

Chapter Fifteen

Rose

I try to pry one eye open, and it's almost impossible. My lids must have weights on them. I'm burning up. My throat feels like it's been used as a scratching post, and my body hurts so much, I can’t even lift my finger.

"Ugh," I groan, or at least that's what I aim for. It comes out more like a croak. Maybe a frog with a smoking habit kind of croak? How did I end up in my nightgown? Last thing I remember, I was on the couch, resting my eyes. Then, magically transported to my bed.

I roll my head to the side, and am shocked to see my neighbor, sleeping like some kind of guardian angel, snoring next to me. He's on top of the covers, fully clothed.

And Honeybun, that traitor, is curled up next to Braxton as if he's the one who feeds him every day. I'd be offended if I didn't feel like aWalking Deadcharacter.

It's a strange sort of comfort, to be next to two snoring beasts. One academic and one my precious furbaby. Despite feeling likeI've swallowed a cactus and someone beat me with a bag of nickels, I can't help but smile. It comes out as more of a grimace.

My heavy eyelids decide they've had enough of this waking nonsense, and I let the darkness take me again, content wit the knowledge that if I kick the bucket, at least I won't be alone.

And that maybe my handsome neighbor does like me just a little. Silver linings.

I regain consciousness to an unfamiliar burn sliding down my throat. My eyes flutter open, and there's Braxton, looking like a mix between a concerned parent and bartender, holding a shot glass to my lips.

"Wh…?" I sputter, coughing as the liquid sets my insides on fire.

"Trust me," he says in a commanding tone. "It's medicinal."

"Medicinal, my left toe," I grumble, but the warmth spreading through my chest is comforting. My brain feels like it's been stuffed with cotton candy, and my mouth bypasses any filters.

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