Page 24 of A Merry Penthouse Christmas
Not there. He and Bastian aren’t in the sitting room either, and there isn’t a note in the kitchen. If they go out, Beau always leaves a note near the fridge.
The nursery is next, and at last I find Bastian asleep in his crib.
But still no Beau.
Finding him studying in his room is common enough, but he would have heard me arrive. I ready to call him again as I near his door, only for the sight of him in bed to steal my voice.
He looks awful. Covers pulled up to his chin, shivering beneath them, yet with sweat across his brow as a clear sign of a fever. He is panting as he lies there as if he is more passed out than asleep.
I rush to check his temperature with the back of my hand. He’s burning up. I’ll need the thermometer from my bathroomto confirm it isn’t dangerously high, but before I turn away, Beau stirs, groaning as his eyes flutter.
“B-Bastian…?”
“He’s asleep. Why didn’t you call me if you were feeling like this?”
“I… I-I don’t… know.” Beau squeezes his eyes shut before trying to focus on my face, which he seems unable to do. “It wasn’t… this bad? I just wanted to rest my eyes.”
He’s still shivering. He needs this fever broken. He also nuzzles the back of my hand still pressed to his forehead. I turn it to cup his cheek, and the smile he offers me just about breaks my heart.
I need to focus.
“Beau, have you taken anything yet?”
“I-I just… need to rest my eyes…”
I’m taking that as a no and am going to risk getting some ibuprofen in him. “I will be right back. I’m going to try to make you feel better, okay?”
“I bet you could make me feel real good…” He smiles again, eyes drooping.
He is clearly delirious—much as I don’t mind that slip.
I leave him to his haze to collect the digital thermometer, meds, water with electrolytes mixed in, and a cold washcloth. Getting him to swallow the pills is the hard part, but given his temp is 103, he needs them. I manage to get him to drink half the electrolyte-filled water, and when I lay the cold washcloth over his forehead, he smiles again with a dreamy expression. Even with his curls damp against his skin, he looks adorable.
“You must have been feeling a little under the weather before this,” I say, sitting with him to be sure his fever doesn’t spike higher before starting to go down. “Why didn’t you say anything? You are allowed sick days.”
“Too much, um… to do? And it didn’t seem this bad before,” he says again, like he only half believes himself. He squirms with another groan and almost loses the washcloth. I adjust it for him. “I’m sorry. It hit me so fast.”
“You can’t control getting sick, Beau.”
“But I got it from theschool. I should have known better.”
“School?”
Beau nods, but it seems like he’s fading, eyes barely open. “Kids are… little petri dishes.” He chuckles. “I’m sorry I took Bastian. I don’t want him getting sick too… but the interview had to be during the day.”
Of course he’s been looking at teaching positions. Why would he stay if he can do what he actually wants to? “Don’t worry about it,” I tell him, stroking the curls from his forehead. “Just rest. I’ll check on Bastian.”
I still wait a few minutes until I’m certain he’s asleep and his temperature reads 102. At least it’s going down.
It hurts that he didn’t tell me he had an interview, but how can I blame him? I’ve been more of a complication in his life than a blessing. Maybe I was fooling myself thinking that anything other than mutual desire was ever on the table.
I’m even less inclined to believe in Christmas miracles when I return to the nursery to check Bastian’s temperature.
He’s burning up too.
Fantastic.
Chapter 7
