Page 77 of The Secrets We Built Together

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and slipped out of the car. As I walked up the path to the cottage door, I felt a strange sense of homecoming. Not just to a place, but to people. To Xander and Amelia. To the life we were building, accidentally but beautifully.

I took a deep breath and opened the door, ready to face whatever came next. Because Delaney was right—life was too short for maybes. And maybe, just maybe, it was time to be brave.

Chapter 28

Blake

My tongue felt like sandpaper, and my limbs were made of concrete. Something wasn't right. I blinked my eyes open, immediately regretting the decision as a shaft of morning light hit them with the precision of a laser beam. My head pounded in response, and my stomach lurched. But the ache in my body and sweat on my forehead clued me in that this wasn’t a hangover.

I was sick. Spectacularly, undeniably sick.

"No," I groaned, trying to push myself up. "Not today."

The room spun, and I flopped back onto the pillow, a pathetic sound escaping my lips. Today was Wednesday. My first official Wednesday Lunch Club meeting. I'd been working toward this for months, had even prepared small talk topics about Mrs. Schulster's demonic dog. The invitation had been hard-won through strategic ham bribes and what felt like years of trying to prove I wasn't just some weird pink-haired artist invading their town.

Yet here I was, struck down by what felt like the plague on the very day of my social triumph.

"God, why do you hate me?" I whispered to the ceiling.

A soft knock came at the door, and Xander's head popped in. His brow furrowed as he took in my state.

"Are you okay?" He stepped into the room, immediately going into doctor mode. "You don't look great."

"Wow, flattery will get you everywhere," I mumbled, attempting to sit up again.

He was by my side in an instant, his palm cool against my forehead. "You're burning up. How long have you felt like this?"

"I don't know. Since I woke up." I swallowed, my throat feeling like I'd been gargling glass. "What time is it?"

"Almost nine."

"Nine?" I tried to bolt upright, but my head spun violently in protest. "Amelia—"

"Is fine," Xander said, gently pushing me back down. "Fed, changed, and currently fascinated by her own reflection in that little mirror toy."

I relaxed marginally, but my mind immediately jumped to the next crisis. "The lunch club. I can't miss it, Xander. Do you think if I just—"

"Absolutely not." His voice was firm but gentle. "You're running a fever, and you can barely sit up. The Wednesday Lunch Club will survive without you."

I felt tears stinging my eyes, which was ridiculous. I wasn't a crier, especially not over something as trivial as missing lunch with a bunch of elderly gossips. But right now, with every cell in my body rebelling and my head pounding like a bass drum, it felt like the end of the world.

"I can't," I whispered. "I haven't even—they'll think I'm blowing them off, and I'll never get another invitation."

Xander's expression softened. He sat on the edge of the bed, taking my hand in his. "I'll call Carol and explain. She'll understand."

"You don't know these women," I argued weakly. "They're like the social mafia of Willowbrook. One wrong move and you're sleeping with the fishes. Or at least they're talking about how you sleep with the fishes."

He huffed out a laugh, squeezing my hand. "I promise you'll get another chance. But right now, you need to rest and hydrate." He stood, all efficient doctor energy again. "I'm going to get you some medicine, water, and something light for your stomach. Don't move."

As if I could. I watched as he left the room, trying to ignore the crushing disappointment. My obsession with the Wednesday Lunch Club wasn't about town gossip. It was about belonging. About finally carving out a place for myself in Willowbrook that wasn't just defined by my relationship with Delaney's family or even Xander. Something mine.

And now, thanks to whatever virus had decided to throw a rager in my immune system, it was slipping through my fingers.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, Xander was gently shaking me awake. He'd returned with a tray bearing water, pills, a steaming mug of something that smelled like lemon and honey, and a plate of plain toast.

"How's Amelia?" I asked immediately, my voice scratchy and raw.

"Still happy as a clam," he assured me, helping me sit up against the pillows. "She just went down for her morning nap."

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