Page 85 of Keepsake
“Thank you,” I said with a sigh. I hated being the one who was always leveled by the flu. It really put a dent in my goal to be the MVP of farm work.
That night I stood in Lark’s doorway and told her I was going to sleep in my old bunk so she didn’t catch anything from me.
“Come here,” she demanded from the bed. “I never get sick. It’s my special skill. And you look like you could use a little TLC.” She raised her arms, her pretty face lifting toward me with expectation.
And I went. Never could resist her.
She had me sit in front of her in bed, then she rubbed my neck and shoulders, and finally my scalp, with slow, loving strokes.
I let out a loud moan, and she laughed. “They’re going to tell us to keep it down in here,” she joked.
“Don’t care,” I mumbled. “I thought sex was good. But that’s before you ever rubbed my head.”
I felt her smile, even though I couldn’t see it. “It’s nice to be the one who comforts you for a change. Do you get sick a lot?”
“A couple times a year. The Shipley’s family doctor said it’s because I was never exposed to a lot of the common germs as a kid.”
“Ah. That makes sense.” After a few minutes of heavenly attention, I repositioned myself on my side of the bed. But she wasn’t done with me yet. She curled her body close to mine and rubbed my chest. “I’m sorry you don’t feel well.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s no big deal.” A man didn’t bitch about his aches and pains.
I don’t know how convincing I was, though, since I fell asleep in the middle of our conversation.
The next morning, I woke up to see sunlight streaming into the windows. I was alone in the bed. I lifted my wrist in a hurry to check my watch, but it was missing.
Either a watch thief had relieved me of it in the night, or it was Lark’s doing. The clock on the bedside table said nine thirty.
Shit!
I got up fast, stumbled into my clothes and headed for the farmhouse. Through the kitchen window I spied Lark alone, her face downcast. Her expression gave me pause. But when I opened the back door and stepped inside, she lifted her chin and made her expression cheerful again. “Hi. Did you sleep?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice hoarse from disuse. “We’re supposed to be in Norwich.”
“Kyle and Kieran went,” she said, sponging down the countertops. “They were pretty giddy about it, honestly. They said they hadn’t gotten one of those cider donuts all year.”
“Oh.” I was still uneasy. “So who’s selling apples to the tourists?”
“Griff, May and Dylan. Grandpa is pouring the cider samples. Don’tworry, okay?” She gave me a smile that was more genuine than any I’d seen on her face in a week. “Everything isfine. And I saved you some breakfast. It’s a weird morning anyway, because Ruth had to drive out this morning to pick up D—”
She didn’t get to finish that sentence, because I’d pulled her into a hug. Giving her my mouth wasn’t a great idea, given that I felt even sicker than yesterday. But I dropped my lips to her neck and gave her a soft kiss. And then another.
“You’re hot,” she said, her hand cupping my cheek and then my forehead.
“So are you, baby,” I joked, even though I knew she meant that I felt feverish.
Lark’s concern for my health pulled my heartstrings in unfamiliar directions. Other people had helped me before when I was sick. The Shipleys had always brought me soup and took me to doctors when necessary. Also—they never docked my pay. I don’t know why, but my paychecks were the same amount even when I was flat on my back for a few days during cider season.
But Lark’s care felt different to me. It was tender in a way I’d never experienced. It waspersonal. Just for me.
“Let’s get you some more aspirin,” she suggested, rubbing my arm.
But I wasn’t done loving her. I pushed her up against the refrigerator and kissed the sensitive skin under her ear. Soft hands crept beneath my T-shirt in a soothing way, and I sighed as I kissed her again.
That’s when I heard a gasp.
Now, Lark and I usually didn’t indulge in PDA. But it wasn’t a very risqué moment, even by my standards. I lifted my head in surprise, wondering who found this behavior shocking.
Daphne, that’s who.
