AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I was cautiously optimistic.”
She takes one hand off the steering wheel and runs it over my leg. So soothing. I can’t properly appreciate that gentle touch right now, but I’m grateful for it.
“Let’s get you home to bed.”
In another life, that sentence would have me on my knees. As it is, I might still drop to my knees, but not for any fun reasons.
When we reach my apartment, she comes over to help me out of the car. I want to tell her that I can handle it, but that would be a lie. My head swims and my stomach roils, and although the migraine blind spot cleared up hours ago, my vision’s still off. I hold onto her and pass her my keys when we get to my door.
Inside, I head straight for the bathroom. I take more meds, remove my contacts, and slip into my sleep pants and T-shirt. I rub an essential oil blend on my temples and the back of my neck for good measure. When I emerge, I stumble to my bed and pull the covers up.
Georgia’s already closed the blinds, the sweetheart. She sets a glass of water on my nightstand. “Do you need anything else?”
“There’s a cooling eye mask in the fridge.”
She disappears and returns a minute later with the mask full of green gel beads. I take off my glasses and slip it over my eyes. I have just enough sense to regret the ridiculous situations she’s seen me in these last few weeks.
“I bet your special ops guys don’t look this good.”
She gently runs her fingers through my hair. “That would be impossible. How about I come back later with dinner? Will that be okay?”
That leaves me a good eight hours to sleep this off. Might not be enough to completely drown it, but it should douse it a little. “Thank you.”
Then, the softest, sweetest lips press against my forehead.
At least if this migraine kills me, I’ll die happy.
When I wake up, it takes a while to shake off the grogginess from the medication. Also, I fell asleep with the eye mask on, and I need a minute to figure out where I am. But I no longer feel like I’ve got a harpoon stuck in my eye socket, so all in all, it’s an improvement.
Another benefit is that the nausea has subsided enough for me to recognize that I need to eat. I shouldn’t take all those meds on an empty stomach, but sometimes the thought of food is so unsettling it makes it impossible to dose properly. I put on my glasses and pad out to the kitchen, ready to rummage around in my kitchen for the most filling thing I can find, when I stop short.
Georgia’s on my couch. She’s curled up in one corner wearing black sweatpants and a rust-colored long-sleeve T-shirt, working on her tablet with her stylus. The sight of her here, fully at home in my space, makes me forget every last thought of food. How many times have I imagined her exactly like this? A different me would wrap myself around her and find a hundred ways to thank her for taking care of me this morning.
She looks up and catches me daydreaming. She immediatelysets her tablet aside and rushes straight to me, her arms out like she expects me to tumble into them.
Maybe I should.
“How are you feeling?” She gazes up at me as if she’s a nurse scanning my vitals.
“Better. Not a hundred percent, but it’s manageable.”
She runs her hand over my forehead as if she can smooth away the lingering headache. I’m willing to give it a solid effort to see if it works. Her hand slides down to cup my jaw, and her fond smile squeezes at something in my chest.
This is all I want. Georgia here with me. Georgia looking out for me. Me looking out for her. Us together, making sure the other is safe and well and happy.
“Good. You look better.” She runs her hand down to rest on my shoulder and leans in. “You smell like lavender and mint, too.”
“It’s essential oils that are supposed to help migraines.”
“That explains it. I’ve wondered what that was.” She slips her hand away from me. “Do you feel like eating?”
“I was just coming in here to find something.”
“I’ve got it covered.” She lets me go and beelines for my stove. “I made chili with the fake beef crumbles you like. I cooked it at my place. I figured all those strong smells might not help your headache.”
Past her, a pot I don’t recognize sits on the stove, and there’s a fresh loaf of bread on the table. She grabs a green bag off the counter and holds it up.
“I also found this herbal tea that’s supposed to help, too. The guy at the apothecary said he swears by it, but who knows?”
