Page 38 of Grump Hard
I’m so shook, all I can do is nod when he whispers, “Sleep well, Holly Jo,” and starts down my front steps.
He’s leaving, like the gentleman he is.
But he’ll be back.
This is just the beginning. The start of something wonderful.
I can wait to get to the good part. Because, from here on out, it’s all going to be good between us, I just know it.
Twelve
Luke
I wake up Saturday morning with unfamiliar ease in my jaw and a smile already curving my lips. It isn’t an “outmaneuvered my enemy in the boardroom” smile, either. It’s soft, wistful, an innocent thing that feels a little strange on my face.
Strange, but not bad…
I lie in the warm tangle of blankets, staring at the ceiling, examining this unfamiliar sensation, until I pinpoint its source.
It’s her, of course.
And hope…a genuine, unguarded kind of hope I haven’t felt since I woke up in this same bed when I was ten years old, with no clue that it was the last holiday season I’d enjoy for a long time.
I roll onto my side, reaching for my phone on the nightstand. There’s Holly’s last text from last night, sent while I was on the snowmobile headed home—Had the best time tonight. Can’t wait for the concert tomorrow. Sleep well, Grumpy. xo
The “xo” makes my chest tight in a good way.
The same way it tightened when she was in my arms on the dance floor.
I read it three more times, like some kind of lovesick teenager, then force myself to put my cell down and get out of bed. I have things to do—Christmas shopping I’ve been putting off, work emails to address—but more importantly, I need to ensure everything is in order for this evening.
Manchester is an hour’s drive each way, and I want to make dinner reservations at that Italian place Elliot recommended before the concert. I intend to give Holly another “best time” tonight, then kiss her senseless on her porch all over again.
Smiling like an idiot, I head downstairs, ready to share some of this uncharacteristic Saturday morning cheer with my siblings.
Unfortunately, the scene that greets me in the living room is the furthest thing from cheery…
Ashton is sprawled on the leather sofa, wrapped in what appears to be every fleece blanket in the basket by the fire, her normally perfect blonde hair plastered to her forehead. She emits a low, continuous moan that would be concerning if it weren’t so dramatically over-the-top.
Bran is on the other sofa, in a similar condition, though he’s gone for the stoic suffering approach, lying with his eyes closed and one arm flung over his face like a Victorian lady with the vapors.
Elliot stands between them, clutching a thermometer with the frazzled expression of someone who’s been forced to start putting out fires before he’s had coffee.
“Oh, good, there you are,” he says when he spots me, exhaling a relieved rush of breath. “And you’re not dying of the plague. Thank God. They both woke up like this fifteen minutes ago. I was afraid I was going to be the only nurse on duty.”
“I’m dying,” Ashton announces weakly. “Tell my roommate, Lucy, that I love her. And that she can have the dresses Chalet Nord gave me during fashion week.”
“You’re not dying,” Elliot says, checking the thermometer. “You have a fever of 101. That’s practically nothing.”
“It feels like 110,” she whimpers.
Bran groans from his sofa. “Can someone please turn down the sun? It’s too loud.”
I grunt as I move deeper into the room, coming to stand beside Elliot. “How bad is it, do you think?”
“Bad enough that they’re not going anywhere for at least a few days,” he says grimly. “I already called Dr. Morrison. She said it’s probably the flu that’s been making the rounds in Reindeer Corners. They just need the usual—rest, fluids, pain killers.” He wrinkles his nose before adding in a softer voice, “But if their fever spikes or they start yarfing and can’t keep fluids down, the doctor said we should take them to the hospital. Apparently, this strain is nothing to play around with.”
My mind begins running calculations. Someone needs to be here to monitor them, make sure they’re hydrated, keep track of their temperatures, and ensure we’re fully supplied with the necessary ammunition to fight two nasty cases of the flu.
