Page 24 of Fragile Touch (Fragile 1)
Before allowing herself to think about later, she scribbled her snack in the journal and realized she hadn’t eaten much earlier besides some crackers and several huge mugs of tea. Self-care, Lillian. Self-care comes first. However, despite the mostly empty page and the last remnants of a killer headache, she felt pretty great.
It’s probably just a mental thing. She shoved the food diary back into the drawer and ran back to her room to huddle around the heater. Her firewood had run out a couple of weeks ago and she kept forgetting to restock after she decided the cold nights weren’t over yet. Cold for her, at least. Since she got sick, her cold tolerance had seriously decreased.
She realized she was shaking a little from so much energy. Bananas and peanut butter usually didn’t affect her like this, but she knew good and well that wasn’t why she felt so chock full of adrenaline.
Why do you keep trying to make it seem like you aren’t excited? She groaned and slumped onto the bed, brushing her fingers through her hair. Do I need to blow dry my hair? It feels pretty dry, but I don’t want to get sick. Why didn’t I get more firewood? I need to respond to Cayden. Now. The rush, she determined, was more out of fear of losing her nerve rather than losing his interest.
Then again, if he isn’t interested just because I took a little while to return a text, he’s a pretty shallow person.
So far, he had been really sweet to her. Too sweet, even. But she could tell he was a teeny bit shallow. He was a personal trainer, a bachelor, and threw weekly parties at his house where he lived alone. That in itself was a stereotype.
I’ve got to be real about what I’m getting myself into, she sighed, hitting the send button on her short message. She had asked if he was bored. A question that could be interpreted many different ways, depending on the context.
In the next couple of minutes, there was no ding from her phone. She hardly noticed, propped on her bed like a marionette with drooping eyelids. The headache was starting to come back and the heat was sapping every drop of energy from her. The house was quiet, her favorite lullaby.
She was almost asleep when her arm buckled and she collapsed onto her side. How long have I been out? she wondered, knowing it wasn’t very long but curious at how much time had passed. Before she could click her phone to see, she stilled. Her ears caught a faint sound. A dreadfully familiar sound.
The pounding bass.
“Seriously?” she moaned, her heart falling down to the soles of her feet. “This is what happens when I take too long? A spontaneous party?” She flopped back, wrapping herself in a quilt and opening up a new message to Cayden.
Hey, I don’t want to be a killjoy, but I think I’m going to try to get some sleep here soon. “I’m so over this,” she muttered as she sent it.
In less than thirty seconds, he replied. It worked! Go to your back porch.
“It worked? What worked?” The bass vibrations stopped as she padded out to the porch, the thick quilt still wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
The air outside was much colder, and she suddenly appreciated how warm the inside of her house actually was. Trying not to shiver, she stood on the porch and looked around. Cayden’s outside light turned on, and he stuck his head out his back door.
“Hey!” he called.
“Hey.”
“You bored?”
Lillian heard the smile in his voice. She smiled back, just a little. “Getting sleepy. What’s up with the loud music?”
Cayden let out a single laugh. “I knew it would get your attention.”
“You could have just called.”
“I’m calling you now!” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Come over here, Lil!”
Her heart pounded against her ribcage. What am I supposed to say? “I’ve...never been over there,” she stumbled.
“Yeah, I know. Come meet the babies.” He ducked inside for a second, then suddenly extended his hand straight out in front of him, holding a tiny pot. “Isn’t she cute?”
“I can’t really see it,” Lillian squinted. The cold was beginning to seep into her bones.
“Exactly. So come over. I’ll get the fire going.” With a thumb’s up, he quickly popped back inside and shut the door behind him. Lillian stood there, a bit overwhelmed. He hadn’t even given her a chance to say yes or no. What if she didn’t want to go over to his place?
Then just don’t go, she thought, tiptoeing back into her house so her feet had as little contact as possible with the cold wood of her porch. But you don’t want to not go.
She heard a meow from the kitchen and knew the cats would soon start complaining about dinner. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she sang, still trying to place how she felt. “Should I go?” The question was half to herself and half to the cats, who crowded around her legs as she scooped their food and dumped it in their bowls.
Standing back, she put her hand on her hip and watched the two animals dig in. “Just go,” she muttered. “Just go. Leave the fur children at home for a night. He’s got the fire going and everything.” It was no use continually trying to fabricate excuses why she shouldn’t go over. She wanted to. He wanted her to. It was only next door.
What’s the big deal?
