Page 13 of Reaper

He raised an eyebrow, suspicion warring with hope.“You sure?”

She grinned slyly, already pulling her phone out.“Yeah. I think she’d prefer it if you showed up.”

A second later, his phone buzzed with her text. The message was simple—a short list of meds Savannah needed—but to Reaper, it felt like an invitation. A chance.

“Thanks, Samantha.” His voice came out rougher than he intended.

“Don’t mention it.” She winked.“Just take care of her.”

He nodded, a silent promise in that simple gesture, and turned on his heel. He pushed through the door, the sun feeling less harsh now, the heat less oppressive.

He straddled his bike and fired it up, the roar of the engine vibrating through his bones as he headed toward the pharmacy.

The pharmacy was quiet, the fluorescent lights casting everything in a clinical glow. Reaper felt out of place here, surrounded by shelves stocked with pastel-colored boxes and rows of bottles that promised quick fixes.

He grabbed what Savannah needed—cold meds, tissues, cough drops—and then paused. His gaze landed on a row of lip balms. The memory of Savannah’s lips, dry and cracked from the wind during their last ride, made his fingers itch. He grabbed one—cherry flavored—and added it to the basket.

Back on his bike, he spotted a nearby diner that did takeout. An idea struck him, and he pulled in without a second thought. Ten minutes later, he walked out with a steaming container of tomato soup and a couple of slices of buttered bread. If Savannah was sick, the least he could do was bring her something warm and comforting.

The ride to her apartment was a blur of thoughts and doubts. By the time he parked in front of her building, his nerves were frayed. He hadn’t felt this uncertain in years. The weight of the soup container and pharmacy bag felt heavier than they should have.

He climbed the stairs, each step echoing in the silent hallway. Finally, he reached her door. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the faded numbers on the peeling paint.

What if she doesn’t want to see me? What if this is too much?Then he remembered Pat’s voice, soft and steady, telling him not to shut himself off.

Reaper knocked.

A few seconds passed before he heard shuffling inside. The door cracked open, and Savannah peered out, her eyes dull with exhaustion, her cheeks flushed. She wore an oversized hoodie and leggings, her hair piled into a messy bun. Even like this, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Her eyes widened when she saw him.“Reaper?”

“Hey,” he said softly, holding up the bags.“Samantha said you were under the weather. Thought you could use some supplies.”

For a moment, she just stared at him, something unreadable in her eyes. Then, her face softened, and she curved her lips upward to a smile. She stepped back and opened the door wider.

“Come in.”

He entered, the warmth of her small apartment enveloping him. She took the bags from his hands, her fingers brushing his briefly, sending a jolt of heat through him.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she murmured.

“Yeah, I did.” His voice was rough, sincere.“Figured you shouldn’t have to tough it out alone.”

She swallowed, eyes shimmering.“Thank you.”

He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling too big, too rough for her space.“I brought soup. Thought it might help.”

Her smile widened, a real one this time, and it felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.“It’s perfect.”

He watched as she set the soup on the table, his heart pounding. The silence between them was charged, full of things unsaid. But for now, it was enough just to be here, to take care of her.

****

Reaper leaned back in Savannah’s worn armchair. The hum of the TV filled the silence, some old black-and-white movie flickering across the screen.

He wasn’t really paying attention, though. His eyes kept drifting to Savannah curled up on the couch, wrapped in a soft blanket, her fingers cradling a steaming bowl of tomato soup. Her cheeks were still flushed from the fever, but there was a hint of color returning to her lips, and her eyes seemed brighter than they had this morning.

She caught him looking and gave a playful smirk. “You know, you don’t have to babysit me. I’m not dying,” she told him.

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