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“I know how much you like kissing me.” He shook his head. “Yeah, you’d be saying you were fine every few minutes.”
She had to laugh. “You are so full of yourself.”
“Hmm, what could I do to get you to stop saying that you’re fine?” He tapped his finger against his chin and studied her. “I know, I could make you stand in the corner. A minute for every time you say you’re fine. I reckon by the end of the day, you’d be standing in the corner for an hour.”
“You can’t do that!”
His face dropped. “You’re right. I forgot about your foot. Of course, that won’t take long to heal.”
“That wasn’t what I meant! I’m not standing in the corner.”
“All right, writing lines it is. Every time you say you’re fine you have to write five lines. Something like, ‘I will not say I’m fine when I am not.’”
He wouldn’t! Would he? Oh hell, what did she know? He probably would. She narrowed her gaze at him. “That’s not very nice, Daddy.”
Oh shoot. She slammed her hand over her mouth. There went that filter. But before she could say anything to him, her stomach chose that moment to protest. She groaned, grabbing at it.
“Ouch.”
“Do you feel sick?”
“No, I just . . . can you get my handbag?”
“Why? What’s wrong? What do you need?”
She rubbed at the burning in her stomach. “Ed, handbag. Please.”
Standing, he set her down on the chair.
“You’re too pale. And in pain. I don’t like it. Maybe it’s your appendix.”
“It’s not my appendix.”
“I’m calling Xavier.”
“No, Ed!” she protested as he left. Shoot. All she needed was her handbag. She knew that she’d probably just eaten too much and her stomach was protesting. Some antacids and she’d be fine.
She stood. Where did she put her handbag?
“What are you doing?” Ed snapped, startling her.
“Sheesh, give a girl a heart attack. I’m looking for my handbag.”
He strode towards her, his arms piled high with blankets. “You’re not supposed to be walking around. Lie down. I’ll get it for you.”
“Ed, you’re over-reacting. My stomach’s just sore because I ate too much. I just need some antacids. Which are in my purse.”
“I don’t think you should take those until we check with Xavier,” he told her. Then he gently arranged her on the sofa and started piling blanket after blanket on top of her.
After two, she started to sweat. By the time he put blanket number four over her, she felt like she was suffocating. He didn’t need to worry about the tummy ache doing her in, she was going to expire from overheating.
He had his phone out, no doubt calling Xavier as he grabbed her handbag and a bowl.
“Xavier, it’s Georgie. She’s not well.”
“I’m fine, Xavier,” she called out loudly. She tried to break her way free from the p
ile of blankets to grab her handbag. But he’d tucked them around under her.
