Page 20 of A Newport Christmess

“It should, but I know something that might help in the meantime.” Landon stood up and went into the half-bath. The sink turned on for a minute, then off again. When he came back out, he held a folded, wet washcloth. “Put this over your eyes.”

I was careful to avoid touching his fingers when I grabbed the cold cloth. With one brief glance, and quieting my thoughts about how vulnerable putting something over my eyes would make me, I tilted my head back against the couch. Instant relief came from the frigid cloth. A sigh of contentment slipped from my lips.

“Better?”

I simply nodded, pressing the washcloth more firmly against my face. “You seem like quite the allergy expert. Do you deal with any?”

“My sister does.”

“Nikki?”

“No. My older sister, Julie. Between her food allergies and her seasonal allergies, I’ve learned the drill.” He paused. “Speaking of, we should probably get some cream on your hives and get you the cold compress.”

His use of we had me sitting up straight, and the washcloth slipped down my face and into my lap. I plopped it next to the medicine on the glass surface of the coffee table. “I’ll do it.”

“Which do you want?” he asked, resuming his spot on the couch a cushion away from me. “White or pink?”

I glanced between the hydrocortisone cream and the calamine lotion Landon held. “Maybe I’ll try them both and see what helps more, so I’ll know for next time.”

He extended them both closer to me, waiting for me to choose.

“I’ll start with this one.” I grabbed the hydrocortisone. Removing the cap and the aluminum safety covering, I plopped a decent amount into my palm and began spreading it onto my hands. The white paste was thick and slightly oily, but eventually, it rubbed in. I pulled up one sleeve of my sweater with my clean index finger and began dabbing it on the few hives there.

“Weren’t you wearing long sleeves?” Landon asked, his eyes focused on my forearm.

“The needles poked through my sweatshirt in some places,” I said, lowering the sleeve again and lifting my other one. I dabbed a bit of cream on a large hive near my elbow. “It’s not too bad, though. Not like my face and hands.”

Landon let out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry. Had I known you’d have a reaction—”

“Had I known, I wouldn’t have offered to hold the tree. It’s not a big deal, really.” I twisted the lid back on the cream and grabbed the calamine lotion. “I’ll do my face in the bathroom so I can see where I’m putting it.”

He also stood, but to my relief, he started toward the kitchen.

The pink liquid refused to absorb into my skin, but the itch dimmed almost instantly at contact. “Is this stuff supposed to rub in?” I called.

“Not really,” Landon called. “It coats the skin.”

Perfect. If I had to have a few giant clusters of hives on my face and neck, why not draw attention to it with a pink, chalky mask? Thank heavens no one would see me like this—well, no one I needed to impress. When I finished the application, I shook my head at my pitiful reflection. “It just keeps getting better,” I said, stepping back out into the open space.

Landon glanced up from where he was sweeping the floor, that smile of his, the one that made my insides flutter, making an appearance. “Pink’s a good color on you.”

“Isn’t it?” I dropped onto the couch, my body unusually sluggish. A yawn escaped me, and I hurried to cover it. “I can help you clean up. I just need to sit for a minute first.”

“I’m not letting you anywhere near these pine needles.” He pointed to the corner of the coffee table. “There’s your cold compress.”

“Thanks,” I said, picking it up along with the wet washcloth. The washcloth wasn’t as cold as it had been, but it still brought relief when I laid it across my eyes. For several minutes, I leaned against the couch, listening to Landon move around the room and shifting the ice compress to whatever patch of skin most demanded it.

I yawned again. “Wow. I’m exhausted.”

“The Benadryl is probably taking effect. It causes drowsiness in some people.”

My head was nearly as heavy as my swollen eyelids, and my thoughts were growing muddled. I clearly was in the some-people category. “Had I known that, I probably wouldn’t have taken extra.”

The sound of his movements stopped. “How much did you take?”

The answer danced around my head, but each time I tried to latch onto it, it evaded me.

Hurried footsteps moved toward where I sat. “Quinn, how much did you take?”