Page 33 of In the Net
“Breakfast,” she answers.
I quirk an eyebrow. “This morning?”
“Yesterday.”
“Fuck. You need to eat,” I say, walking over to close and lock the window I just snuck through.
She whines. “Not hungry. Maybe after another nap …”
I get ready to lecture her about how if she neglects nutrition, she’s only going to be sick for longer. But when I look at her, I find her eyes closed and a restful look spreading over her face.
“Fine,” I say out loud, even though I know she’s already too deep into sleep to hear me. “I’ll let you nap for a couple hours, but then you’re having some soup.”
I stand near her bed, shaking my head at her.Of courseHarper finds a way to blow up my Louvre plans. Strangely, I can’t find it in myself to be mad at her, though.
I just hope she feels better soon.
I mean … because her being sick while we’re trying to make our plane on time would be a hassle, of course.
She’s so exhausted that she just plopped off to sleep even though her pillows are a total mess. Stooping over her, I tuck two pillows neatly behind her head. If she’s congested, she’ll sleep better if she’s more upright.
Even though therewas no chance of me making it to the Louvre today, I thought maybe I’d at least take a walk around. Enjoy the sights of Paris some more on my second-to-last day here. Maybe stop by a bookstore, buy a book of French poetry or short stories or something and read them in a park or by the river or at a café while people watching.
But I still couldn’t shake the worry whenever I was out of Harper’s room. What if she wakes up sooner than I expect and she’s suddenly hungry? Or she falls while trying to get out of bed and needs help getting up?
I ended up going right back to her room and sitting there scrolling on my phone. After a couple hours, I decide that it’s probably not good for her to sleep this long uninterrupted.
Plus, if she hasn’t eaten since yesterday morning for fuck’s sake, we’ve really gotta get something in her stomach.
I go out and find a café, bringing us both back some soup and sandwiches. With the bag of food in my hand, I go out of my way to be noisy as I open the door coming back to her room.
“Rise and shine,” I call out, shutting the door too hard. “Time to eat.”
She stirs under her covers, another one of her prolonged groans announcing her displeasure. She’d probably sleep for another twenty-four hours if I let her. But our flight is early inthe morning the day after tomorrow, and if her sleeping cycle gets totally out of whack, it’s only going to be worse for her on the journey home.
“Wake up,” I say, nudging her mattress with my foot after kicking my shoes off. “I’ve got your favorite soup.”
That has her heavy eyelids peeking open, suspicion dancing in her glare. “My favorite?”
I place the bag of food down on the tiny desk in the room and fish out the soup cartons. “Yep. Tomato.”
Her expression becomes livelier and her eyebrows draw together in surprise. “How do you know that?”
“In middle school, you’d always get excited when they had tomato soup in the cafeteria. I remember you calling chicken noodle soup overrated in some random conversation we were in.” The edge of my mouth tugs up at the memory. It sure was a long time ago.
She props herself up on her elbows, looking at me. “You remember that?”
My cheeks suddenly feel warm. I point at my head, trying to play it off. “Good memory. Now eat,” I say, holding the carton out to her.
If she were still talking to that asshole Clement, and he stuck around long enough to take care of her today, there’s no wayhe’dhave known to get her tomato soup and not chicken noodle.
She sits up in her bed. The duvet covering her slides down and bunches up around her waist. She’s been sweating enough that the white t-shirt she’s wearing is stuck to her body.
My eyes snag on the way the fabric hugs her perky tits, and I fall into a daze for about two seconds before I snap myself out of it and tear my eyes away.
“Wow, this smells good,” Harper says, removing the lid from her carton.
“Probably better than our middle school cafeteria at least.”
