Page 57 of Tempt Me

I don’t know how much time passes after she leaves. At some point, I feel a depression on the bed beside me. Then a low voice starts to sing, in a soft tone. I don’t know the song but it sounds like a lullaby. It’s in Spanish.

I wake up the next morning and something’s different.

My hair is matted and my clothes are sticky with sweat but my skin isn’t on fire anymore. My body doesn’t ache. My throat no longer burns.

My stomach gives a little rumble.

Caden is sleeping softly on the bed beside me. He’s propped up on pillows with a book on his chest, like he fell asleep reading. I glance at the book—it’s my copy ofThe Flatshareby Beth O’Leary. One of my favorite romance novels. For a brief moment, I watch the soft rise and fall of his breath, my eyes tracing from the dent at the base of his throat to the angular jut of his chin.

I reach out and touch his shoulder.

“Caden,” I say, my voice raspy.

He jolts awake, blinking around blearily as the book slides onto the floor with a soft thump. “Are you okay?” he says. “Do you need something?”

“I’m hungry,” I say as my stomach gives another growl. “I think the fever broke.”

Pale yellow light streams in through my windows. I can see the circles under his eyes. He looks exhausted. But a tired smile lights up his face. He quickly places the back of his hand to my forehead, a practiced move.

“You’re cool,” he says, delighted. “Let’s check with the thermometer. I’ll heat up some soup.”

He disappears into the bathroom and comes back to pop a thermometer in my mouth. I wait patiently with it under my tongue as I hear cabinets opening and pots clanging from the kitchen. When Caden comes back to the take the thermometer out, he looks at the temperature, relieved.

“Back to normal,” he declares, showing me the number.

“I didn’t know I owned a thermometer,” I say.

“You didn’t,” Caden says. “Charlotte and I got you a whole pharmacy. I think you’re stocked up for the next decade.” Faint spots of pink color his cheeks and he quickly busies himself by pulling out his phone. “Let me tell her your fever broke. Do you want to take a shower? There are fresh towels, and I ordered some shampoos and stuff because you were almost out. I hope they’re okay—Daisy recommended them.”

I don’t know what to say—it’s so thoughtful of him. Of both of them. And I do want to get out of these sticky clothes. I look down at my bedding, a tangle of sheets.

“I’ll change those,” Caden reassures me.

“Okay,” I say, feeling a little overwhelmed.

I hurry into the bathroom and close the door behind me. I open the medicine cabinet and find bottles neatly organized, everything from antinausea medication to extra strength Tylenol to sleeping pills. There’s a little basket on the sink filled with various skin care items, serums and scrubs and lotions, with a note that saysFeel Better Soon, Isla! -Daisy.

I open the shower curtain and there is a pair of expensive looking shampoo and conditioner next to my bottle of Dove body wash. Some European brand with a name I can’t pronounce. I turn on the water and peel off my sweaty clothes. As I step beneath the hot spray, my body relaxes and my mind starts to spin back over the past couple days.

Oh god. I threw up in front of Caden. I clap my hands over my face. I think he helped me change my clothes at one point. Shame creeps into my stomach. This is so embarrassing. But also…I’m grateful. I’m glad I didn’t have to be alone. I’m glad I had someone to take care of me. Then I remember the song in Spanish. Caden was singing to me. My toes clench, my skin tingling.

I squirt some shampoo onto my hand and start to lather my hair. It smells amazing—freesia and orange peel. I feel myself relax as the water washes me clean.

I hear a faint clang from the kitchen and I’m suddenly very aware that I’m naked in the shower and there’s only a thin wall between me and Caden. I finish as quickly as my aching joints and sore muscles allow, then grab one of the fluffy towels from the rack on the wall. These are way nicer than my towels from TJ Maxx. I wrap myself in the warm softness and then peek out the bathroom door. Caden is in the kitchen with his back to me, stirring a pot on the stove.

I rush to my little nook behind the Japanese screens and quickly change into a fresh pair of sweatpants and a tee. My bed has been remade.

I towel dry my hair but it’s still damp as I emerge out into the living room. Caden is pouring soup into a bowl. The scent of broth and noodles makes my mouth water. I’m suddenly famished. He turns to see me and a bright smile spreads across his face. His hair is sleep-tangled and his T-shirt rumpled.

I feel a slight pinch between my thighs.

“You look great,” he says.

“I look like death,” I say.

“Nah. Yesterday you looked like death. Today you’re giving Victorian invalid struck down by the consumption vibes.”

I grin. “Shall I journey to the seaside to get some fresh air? That was what the doctors recommended back then, right?”

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