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I clenched my fist to keep from laughing in fury. “Again, like I said, I’m retired. Can’t help you and wouldn’t if I could. I try to keep to my own business. Good luck though.” He had no idea how much luck he’d need if he ever came close to her again.
I edged around him, physically holding my hand back from hitting him as I did.
I didn’t stop walking until I got to my truck, and when I did, I sped off toward the cabin without a look back at him. I needed to see Macy and reassure myself that she was alright.
* * *
“Hey,” she said, looking up from her book when I walked inside. “Did everything go okay? You were gone for a while.”
“Yeah, all fine.” I knew she would worry if I told her that he’d actually approached me and asked me about her. Worrying her was not on my agenda for the day.
“You sure?” she asked, lowering her feet to the floor and looking at me seriously.
“Yeah.” I went and sat down on the coffee table across from her. “I just had a quick errand to run.”
“What was that?”
I held out the croissant, and she smelled the inside of the bag deeply. “Thank you,” she said, smiling at me.
“Oh, and I also went for these,” I said, holding the plastic bag out to her. She took it curiously and looked inside.
“Oh my God,” she said, pulling out the box of oil pastels and the large sketchpad of drawing paper.
“Is it right? I didn’t know what I should get you, but if you let me know what you want instead, I can always take it back.”
“It’s perfect,” she said, her eyes brightening a little. She jumped up from her seat on the couch and came over to me, clasping my face in her hands and kissing me deeply. “Thank you,” she said when she came up for air. I felt a little bit of guilt as she kissed me again for not telling her and pushed it down. She was safe, and she was happy. Those were the most important things.
20
MACY
When I woke up the next day, I was alone in the bed, but I could hear Dillon in the kitchen moving around. I lifted my head, feeling dizzy as I looked at the clock.
Shit. It was almost eleven, and I was still half-asleep.
Moving slowly, I got up and walked to the bathroom. My stomach was roiling, and I knew I was going to need to throw up before I felt better. I vaguely remembered waking up earlier and throwing up as well before stumbling back to bed.
I washed up and threw on some fresh leggings and a T-shirt, swathing myself in the long burgundy knit sweater that I loved the most as I stumbled out to the living room.
“Hey, you’re up,” Dillon said, looking up from the stove as I went over and sat on the stool across from him. Every movement felt like it was going to jolt me into throwing up again, and I put my face into my hands again as I leaned onto the counter. “You feeling better?”
“Not really,” I groaned as I leaned forward and pressed my forehead onto the cold granite countertop.
“Huh.” He walked around the island to look at me, pressing his hand to my forehead to gauge my temperature before looking into my eyes. “What do you think it might be?”
“I’m not sure.” I climbed down and went for a glass of water. “I started to think that I might’ve undercooked the meat from yesterday in the stir-fry I made.”
“I’m not sick, though.” He frowned at me as I drank the glass of water.
“You sure? Not even a little bit?” I asked.
“Healthy as a horse,” he said, smiling slightly.
“Dammit.” I crossed my arms and bit my lips.
“You’re upset that I’m not sick?” He raised his eyebrow at me.
“Just that there’s not an easy explanation.”
