Page 102 of Never With You
As we walk to our villa, I decide to ask him what’s wrong. “Is everything okay?”
Nate’s head is down, keeping his focus on the sidewalk. “Yeah.”
“You seem kind of…withdrawn.”
“I don’t know. There’s a lot on my mind.” His head lifts, but he still avoids my gaze. “Plus, I feel weird. Maybe the fried chicken from lunch isn’t sitting well.”
“Oh.” I’m surprised by the amount of anxiety escaping with my breath. Nate is sick, not annoyed with me.
“Do you care if I have the shower first?” he asks as he opens the door to our room. “Maybe if I get cleaned up, I’ll feel a little better.”
“Yeah, of course. Let me set my stuff down, and I’ll go to give you some privacy.” I switch my sandals, get a fresh towel, and then announce my departure. “I’m leaving.”
He grunts, and I debate asking him if he needs anything. Privacy is probably the only thing he wants right now.
* * *
I lieon a padded lounge chair by the main pool, feeling the afternoon sun warm my skin. I’ve checked my DMs all day, but there hasn’t been anything new from Mr. International. Holding my phone out, I snap a picture of my painted toes with the pool and lush greenery in the background and send it to him again with the caption,Currently.
After a quick power nap, I decide it’s probably safe to return to the room. As I pass the hotel gift shop, I pause. What would Nate do? Whenever he thought I might not feel well due to cramps, he brought me Midol. If he really is sick, I’m sure he’d appreciate some medicine. It’s the least I can do—the olive branch I should’ve extended long ago.
When I get back to the villa with every over-the-counter medicine the hotel gift shop had, I hear Nate retching in the bathroom.
“Nate?” I say, letting him know I’m here. He grunts and then goes back to throwing up. Through the opening in the wall, his hunched body leans over the toilet.
I open the minibar refrigerator, take out a cold can of Sprite, and set it on the nightstand with one of the off-brand Zofran pills I just bought. After a few rounds of vomiting, the sink turns on, and he begins brushing his teeth.
“Forget you saw any of that,” he says as he comes around the corner.
He’s the hottest food-poisoning patient I’ve ever seen. Like a certified psycho, I take a second to check Nate out. He’s shirtless with nothing but cotton shorts on and mussed hair, as if he didn’t have the energy to style it when he got out of the shower. But there’s something fundamentally wrong with checking someone out when they're this vulnerable, so I rein in my eyes and jump into nurse mode.
He falls onto the bed with a thump. “Kill me now.”
“Here.” I hold the Sprite and the medicine out in front of him. “Take this.”
He squints at the little white pill in my palm. “What is it?”
“I got it at the gift shop. It’s some kind of Zofran.”
A soft smile dots his lips. “You got me medicine?”
“You’d do the same for me.” Hehasdone the same for me.
His hand reaches up and caresses my wrist. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” I think this is the sweet version of Nate his mom and aunts were talking about.
I like him like this.
I could definitely get used to that mushy smile of his.
I eatmy dinner alone at the back of the hotel restaurant. Connie invited me to sit with the Farnsworth family even though Nate was sick in the room, but I declined, saying I had to finish up a few details for the upcoming farewell party. It just didn’t seem right to keep the fake relationship going in front of his family when Nate is not around.
There are limits to my lies.
Besides, I usually eat alone on these trips. I’ve always prided myself on being the tour guide who blends in like carpet, quietly getting things done in the background. But Nate is the opposite. I used to dislike his flashy personality on events, thinking he did it wrong, but without him here tonight, everything feels a bit duller, as if we’re missing our mascot who makes things more exciting.
I check my Instagram messages and feel disappointed that Mr. International hasn’t messaged. It’s been almost twenty-four hours since I last heard from him.
After my waitress brings a to-go container of soup, I leave, heading back to my room to check on Nate. He’s lying on the bed asleep with his arm curled around a trash can. I take a second to study him. There’s a softness to his features that makes me question how I ever cast him as the morally gray villain in my life.
