CHAPTER TEN
Precisely four hours after Niko had left Thrive’s offices on his mission, he finally arrived at Emma’s front door. He found the spare key exactly where Beckett told him it would be, under the squatting plaster frog by the pink azalea. He knocked once on the cottage’s front door and peered through the glass windows of the glossy black door.
The kitchen and living room appeared to be lifeless.
He fired off another quick text.
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair. Never mind, I’ll just use this spare key.
There was no response, and he figured the thirty seconds he waited was long enough. Niko let himself in and closed the door behind him. Neat as a pin was his first impression. He could see evidence of Emma’s urban roots tangling with Blue Moon’s eclectic style.
The drapes were a rich navy and tied back with charming rainbow hued rope cord tassels. The tufted leather sofa that faced the fireplace was adorned with colorful throw pillows. He deposited his bags on the island countertop. Very nice crystal wine glasses hung from the underside of one white kitchen cabinet above a stoppered bottle of Blue Moon’s own Merlot.
“Emma?” he called out. His only response was a faint groan coming from the narrow staircase off the kitchen. “I’m coming up,” he warned.
At the top of the stairs, he saw the second floor was home to two bedrooms and one small bathroom. It was there that he found Emma, curled into the fetal position on the black and white octagonal tiled floor. Her head, arms covering her face, rested on the thick bath mat.
“Why are you here?” she groaned.
“Oh, baby.” Niko stroked a hand through her sweat soaked tangle of hair.
“Just go,” she croaked.
“How long have you been here?”
“One thousand years.”
At least her sarcasm was still functioning, Niko thought.
Emma started to sit up and pointed him toward the door.
“I’m not leaving,” he told her. “I’m here to nurse you back to—”
She interrupted him by throwing her limp body over the toilet and throwing up.
He grabbed her hair and held it loosely behind her neck until the heaving stopped.
She collapsed over the toilet seat and, with a shaking hand, reached up to flush.
“Just let me die in humiliated peace,” she begged.
“Not gonna happen,” he told her. Niko released her hair and took the washcloth from its hook. He ran it under cold water and wrung it out before placing it on the back of her neck. “We need to get you back in bed.”
“Don’t wanna throw up in bed.” Her voice was muffled, raspy.
“I’ll get you something to throw up in. You can’t lay here on the floor.” And with that, he gently scooped her up in his arms.
“Am I fighting you off? In my head, I’m fighting you, and you’re putting me down.”
“How high do you think that fever is?” he asked.
“I’ve never been more humiliated in my entire life, and I once fell down a flight of stairs carrying a tray of entrees. I smelled like veal marsala for the rest of the night.”
Her skin was clammy. The oversized t-shirt she wore was soaked with sweat, and post vomit-shivers were wracking her body.
“I think you’ll recover from your humiliation.” He placed her carefully on the bed, and as she collapsed back against the impractical mound of pillows, he opened drawers of her dresser until he found a sweatshirt and leggings. “Here. Can you put these on?”
“Stop trying to see me naked,” she groaned, teeth chattering.
“Baby, strip now, or I’ll strip you,” he said, turning his back to her.
Emma muttered and shivered her way through the clothing change while he examined her bedroom. Like downstairs, everything was organized and in its place. The room itself was plain with white washed plank walls and the light pine flooring. Long sheer curtains—white again—flanked the window and would billow nicely in the breeze if the glass was open. The bed, curvy yet quaint with its wrought iron frame, was topped with a thick, flowered comforter in reds, yellows, blues, and greens.
Red throw pillows and a red and yellow rug gave the room a cheery, feminine feel.
“Okay, sadist,” Emma croaked from the bed.
He turned to find her huddled under the comforter, her t-shirt discarded on the floor. “Good girl.” He lay a hand on her forehead and felt the heat pumping off of her. “I’m going to run downstairs and bring you some tea. Do you want anything else? Any toast? Soup?”
Her pallor went from white to green. “No, thank you. You can go,” she told him, trying to dismiss him again. “I prefer to suffer in solitude.”
“I’ll just unload downstairs,” he lied.
In the kitchen, he found a cleaning bucket under the sink and lined it with doubled up plastic bags. Niko jogged back upstairs and stopped in the bathroom to wet a fresh washcloth. Back in Emma’s bedroom he put the washcloth on her head and slipped the thermometer he’d found in the medicine cabinet between her lips.
“I thought I told you to go away,” she mumbled.
“Quiet,” he told her. “If you have to puke, puke in that,” he said, pointing at the bucket on the floor. While he waited for the thermometer to beep, he crossed the room and opened the window. Instantly the room felt less stuffy.
“What are you doing?”
“Julia and Rob said their kids had this last week. They said to get fresh air into the house so you don’t marinate in the germs.”
The thermometer beeped and Niko looked at the read out.
“Am I dying?” Emma murmured, eyes closed.
One hundred and three degrees. “Well, let’s just say you’re not going to work today.”
Her response was a pained “ugh.”
“Just get some rest for now and let the fever cook those germs.”
She was too exhausted to respond.
Niko went back downstairs and, after texting Gia to let her know her sister was mostly alive, unloaded the shopping bags. Stashing supplies wherever he could find space in the refrigerator and cabinets, he opened the windows on the first floor and hoped that the sunshine and fresh air would murder the germs. He was organizing a tray when he heard the toilet flush upstairs.
“Emma?” He knocked on the bathroom door.
“Go away.”
“Did you throw up again?”
Silence.
“Emmaline, don’t make me come in there again,” he said sternly.
He gave her until the count of three and, just as he was about to bust in, the knob turned.
She was at least standing. Sort of.
“Happy?” she grumbled.
There was a fresh sheen of sweat on her pretty, pale face, and it looked like it hurt her to stand.
“Baby,” he crooned. “Come on. Back to bed.” Niko tucked an arm around her waist and guided her back to her room.
“D-d-did Julia say how long this th-th-thing lasts?” she asked through chattering teeth.
“It’s a short one. About twelve hours,” he lied easily. “In fact, you should be feeling better soon.” Hope was never wrong to give. He’d just hide her nightstand clock.
Niko helped her back into bed and tucked the covers around her tight. He used the washcloth to wipe the sweat from her face.
“Niko?” she shivered out his name.
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to shoot the wedding?”
“Go to sleep, Emmaline.”
She kept her eyes closed, but the muscles of her face slowly started to relax, and when he was sure she was asleep, he slipped back downstairs.
He pulled out the spray bottle of suspect brown liquid and unfolded the handwritten instructions Elvira had given him on how to use her special cleaner. “What the hell does ‘agitate until cloudy’ mean?”
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Emma woke to an earthy spiced scent. She opened an eye and spotted a stick of incense sending lazy curls of smoke toward the ceiling that glowed yellow with the late afternoon sun. Carefully so as not to dislodge her head from her neck, she rolled to check the time, but her clock was missing. In its place was a glass with a sticky note that said, “Coconut water. Sip slowly.”
Two capsules sat on their own sticky note. “Take me.”
Nikolai. The memory of him holding her hair during Vomit Fest had her scraping her hands over her face. She hated being vulnerable in front of people, and at the given moment, there was no situation that she could imagine that was worse. She’d hurled in front of Niko, a man who looked like he was created just to torment women. And now every time he looked at her, he would be reminded of her barfing her guts out.
She would never live this down. Not that it mattered what he thought of her. They were just friends. Even if she thought he was too beautiful to look at. Just friends. Ugh. Her brain was too feverish to think straight.
Testing her body, Emma worked her way into a seated position and was pleased to find she no longer felt like vomiting into unconsciousness. She took a testing sip of the coconut water, and when her stomach didn’t immediately rebel, she took a chance on the ibuprofen.
Easing her bare feet to the floor, Emma took stock of her body. She was still alive. The nausea was mostly gone, along with the chills, but the aches were still fighting for keeps. Her head pounded, and her bones hurt. With the careful moves of a ninety-nine-year-old, she hobbled into the little hallway.
She paused in the bathroom doorway, sniffed. It smelled like eucalyptus and something herby. The countertop and tile floor gleamed.
Had someone broken into her house and cleaned it? she wondered.
Carefully, Emma eased her way down the stairs.
“What the hell, Niko?”
Barefoot and at home in her kitchen, he stirred something on the stove. Her teapot whistled from the back burner.
“What the hell are you doing up?” he demanded, flipping the knob to turn off the flame under the pot.
“Walking into an alternate universe, apparently.” The windows down here were open, and the cooling breeze swept through, bringing with it the fresh scent of Blue Moon spring and sweeping out the remnants of stale sickness.
Niko poured the steaming water over a tea bag in one of her favorite mugs. He wiped his hands on his jeans and steered her by the shoulders to the couch.
“Sit down before you fall down.”
She sat and only put up the weakest of fusses when he bundled her up in a blanket. “This has got to be the most humiliating experience of my entire life,” she decided.
“Then you haven’t had nearly enough fun.” He brought her the tea and sat next to her.
“Aren’t you afraid of catching whatever death sentence this is?” she asked.
“Not with Julia’s Miracle Immunity Booster juice that tastes like feet and radishes,” he told her.
“You went to Julia’s?”
“Did you miss all of my texts?” he asked, disappointed. “They were some of my finest work.”
“I don’t think I’ve looked at my phone since… my internal organs started trying to escape my body in the middle of the night. She made a move to get up, but Niko held her in place with one hand. “Not so fast, champ.”
“I’m just getting my phone,” she said, already short of breath from the effort to stand.
“I’ll get it.”
“It’s on my nightstand.” She watched him as he loped up the stairs. “Thank you,” she called after him weakly.
He returned with the phone and her sheets. “Willa said you can’t sleep on these or you’ll risk reinfection. I think she’s slightly crazy, but I’m going to play it safe.”
Emma rested her head on the back of the couch and closed her eyes. “You held my hair while I threw up, scraped me off the bathroom floor, and now you’re doing my laundry.”
“It’s all part of the friendly service.”
“You’d do this for your other friends?” she asked, having only enough energy to open one eye.
“Hell no.”
It brought a faint smile to her lips.
“In this moment, you’re an excellent friend, Niko. And as an excellent friend, I’d like to propose that we never, ever speak of this day again.”
“Whatever you want, Barf Queen.”
He plied her with liquids, put fresh sheets on her bed while she took a shower, and watched four hours of early How I Met Your Mother episodes with her. She fell asleep on his shoulder, snuggled into his warmth.
He insisted on tucking her into bed before he left, and she was too tired to argue. But as soon as she heard her front door close behind him, she opened her text messages and reread every one he’d sent her documenting his efforts to get to her. Blue Moon was going to have a field day with Dr. Niko. And she wasn’t as upset about it as she should have been.
It was beyond sweet how he’d ridden to her rescue. He cleaned her house, he did her laundry, and he dumped bone broth down her throat. No one-night-stand man in the history of one-night-stand men would have worked this hard for a potential lay.
Emma chalked her thoughts up to vomit-induced exhaustion, pressed her cheek into the cool, clean pillowcase, and fell asleep thinking about how much she really liked Nikolai Vulkov.