Page 50 of Josephine and Clay

“Sit. Down.”

The line clicks. I stare at my phone, then, reluctantly, I sit.

Penny arrives minutes later. She barely parks before she’s out of the car and heading toward me, eyes scanning my face like she’s conducting an assessment.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she says.

“I feel like one.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“I’m not trying to reassure you.”

She crouches in front of me, pressing the back of her hand lightly to my forehead. “You’re not hot.”

“Thank you for that groundbreaking diagnosis.”

“You’re welcome.” She narrows her eyes. “What happened?”

“I got nauseous.”

She furrows her brows. “Okay.”

“Very suddenly.”

“Okay…”

“And then I almost threw up in the sink.”

Her expression shifts. “Oh.”

“Exactly.”

She studies me for a second, then stands. “Alright. We’re not diagnosing you on the sidewalk. Come on.”

“I can walk.”

“I wasn’t going to carry you, so that’s good.”

I glare at her, but I let her help me up anyway.

My cottage feels smaller than usual when I step inside. Penny moves around like she belongs here, kicking off her shoes, heading straight for the kitchen like she’s done it a hundred times already.

“Sit,” she orders.

“I'm sitting.” I flop onto the couch. “Well, I am now.”

“Good.”

She fills a glass with water and presses it into my hands. “Drink.”

I do, because I know better than to argue when she’s in this mode.

She watches me closely. “Any other symptoms?”

“No.”

“Headache?”