“So what do you think?” Pepper asked Samantha. “Is it horrible?”

Her friend had slipped over that evening to pick up her bag after Rylie had finally crashed. Poor thing was really under the weather.

She hadn’t wanted to keep her friend, but she also couldn’t stop herself from asking Samantha’s opinion.

On her artwork.

It felt strange to even say that.

Pepper appreciated art, could buy a gallery’s worth. But she’d never thought to make some of her own.

Samantha silently studied the piece of driftwood, glass, and shells, and Pepper began panic-talking.

The thing that happened when she desperately didn’t want to care about someone’s reaction and yet she really did, and then she couldn’t stop words from blurting out and she ended up filling the air with all sorts of nonsense.

“I wanted to add some sea glass but I didn’t have any and I think it kind of looks cool with the sharp edges and stuff. Of course, it wouldn’t work with kids around. Someone might get cut and—”

“Pepper.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

She clamped her lips together.

Samantha plunked her hands on Pepper’s shoulders. “It’s gorgeous.”

All of the pent up air escaped her lungs. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Samantha said. “You need to sell these.”

“I—” Pepper shook her head. “I didn’t make it for that.”

Samantha squeezed Pepper’s shoulders before dropping her hands. “Which is precisely why it’s so gorgeous.” She snapped a picture with her phone before walking to the front door. “I’ve got to get back, but I’m sending this to my friend Mitch. He owns a gallery and that”—a nod to the sculpture glittering in the low light—“deserves to be on display.”

“But—”

“Shh.”

“I was just going to say—”

“No arguments.”

Pepper smiled and reached past Samantha to open the front door. Then she hugged her friend. “I was going to say thank you and”—she pulled back—“let me know if you need me to watch Rylie tomorrow while you’re at work. I don’t mind,” she added when Samantha started shaking her head. “Should I turn the ‘no arguments’ rule back on you?”

“No,” Samantha said with a chuckle. “If I don’t get whatever plague Rylie has, I’ll take you up on the offer.”

“Deal.”

After another hug, Pepper closed the door.

Then she washed her hands. No plague for her, please and thank you.

* * *

Later that night, Pepper decided she might have been better off dousing herself in Purel or jumping through a cloud of Lysol.

Soap and water clearly hadn’t been enough.

She spent the early hours of the morning heaving her guts up and then the next few camped out on the bathroom floor anticipating doing the same.

Finally she crawled into bed and lay miserable and exhausted until the sun was high enough in the sky she could text Samantha.

Pepper: I’ve caught the plague. Can’t babysit.

Samantha: I’m so sorry! Do you need anything? So far I’m immune.

Pepper: Lucky you. But no, I’m done with the puking stage. Now I want to sleep.

Samantha: K. I’ll check on you later.

Pepper tossed her phone onto her nightstand and closed her eyes, letting sleep drag her under.

It felt like less than ten minutes later when someone knocked on her window.

She glanced at her phone, saw it was past three in the afternoon. There were a half dozen texts stacked on the locked screen.

Samantha must be worried.

She was almost too tired to care. Her mouth felt like a desert, parched and aching for liquid. Her head spun from the lack of food and fluids.

Another knock on the window made Pepper groan. At least her blinds were closed for a change.

Sitting up made her head spin faster, and she immediately flopped back down onto the mattress. It was a struggle to reach her phone, but she managed to snag it from her nightstand. She’d text Samantha rather than getting up.

But just as she was typing, she heard the front door rattle and open.

The spare key. Of course.

“I’m fine,” she called. Or rather, croaked. “I still have the plague, though, so steer clear.”

“I’m not worried about the plague.”

That hadn’t been Samantha’s voice.

She used her last remaining strength to toss a pillow over her head. Suffocation had to be easier than this.

The pillow was plucked from her face.

She kept her eyes closed.

“Pepper.”

Derek was here. Why in the God was he there?

“Go away,” she said, voice so rough it was barely discernible.

A cool hand brushed across her forehead and she almost moaned in relief. She was on fire and that cold touch was everything.

“You’re burning up.”

“I’m fine,” she croaked. “It’s just a bug.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Shh.” Her head pounded, her eyes ached. She closed them, and the lack of light was so much better. But when Derek didn’t answer, she struggled to open her eyes back up. He was gone. Typical.

Forget it. She’d told him to go. She might as well take this time to sleep.

Except, now she was awake.

Miserable and awake.

What she needed was tea and a bucket of aspirin. And then for her body to keep both down.

But she didn’t get more than her head off her pillow.

Come on now, Pepper. Woman up.

Turned out she didn’t need to.

The clatter of dishes on her nightstand drew her focus.

“What—?”

“Here.” Derek slid an arm around her shoulders and tilted her up. Pepper hissed out an uncomfortable breath. Even though he was being gentle, the touch still made her skin throb. “Sorry,” he murmured and stuck a few pillows behind her back so she was propped up.

“It’s okay,” she said hoarsely, having seen what was on the bedside table. Her mouth absolutely watered for . . . dry toast, a glass of water, and a bottle of aspirin.

“Samantha was worried,” he said as he reached for the glass and tilted it up to her lips.

“She’s sick?” Pepper whispered after taking a small sip. Even that burned.

“No. Said something about impressive teacher immune systems and how avoiding the plague was her superpower.”

Pepper snorted. It hurt, but at least her friend’s snarkiness made her smile.

“After you wouldn’t answer her calls. Or mine, for that matter,” he added, brows pulling down into a sharp V. “She was concerned that you were hurt. And since she couldn’t leave Rylie, she sent me.” He made a little salute. “Derek Cashette. At your service.”

She frowned.

He grinned. “And no, that service won’t be leaving you alone. You need food and liquids.”

Since the word “food” made her insides squirm, Pepper just shook her head.

Derek put the glass on the nightstand. “Apparently Rylie is fully past the upheaval stage. Step one, according to Samantha, is keeping down water.”

Pepper nodded, throat beyond done with the talking thing.

“And, in the mean time, we’ll have a discussion.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Okay, you’ll listen and I’ll talk.”

Her mouth opened, but he placed a finger to her lips, apparently unconcerned about the dangers of spreading the plague.

“I talk. You listen.”

She shook her head, unable to find words. It would have been nice to say it was because of her sore throat, but in reality, it was the feel of his skin against hers that really unnerved her.

She liked it.

And that was a huge problem.

Derek sat on the side of the bed, one foot on the floor, the other bent inward at the knee. Getting cozy, coming close, and her multitude of problems weren’t the only thing that was huge.

Huuge.

Awesome, now she sounded like the president. Wrenching her eyes upward, she took in Derek’s amused expression.

Come on universe.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m talking. You’re listening.”

“You’ve said that,” she grumbled, albeit quietly. “Twice.”

One side of his mouth curved up, a dimple flashing. “I guess I have. But here’s the thing, Pepper. You unnerve me.”

She unnerved him?

The man with the double dimples, the flat abs, and squeezable pecs, the—her eyes flicked down again—huge . . . cough, cough . . . package was off his game?

Ha.

But before she was able to voice her disbelief, he continued. “I need to be straight with you. Your father is producing my pet project. He ordered me to stay here and keep you out of trouble.” He sighed. “I should have said no, but . . .”

Her father was a tough man to say no to.

“I didn’t want to.”

Her brows pulled down and, ouch, even frowning hurt.

“I like you, Pepper O’Brien,” he said. “You’re funny and so beautiful that it takes my breath away. I know that’s cliché—”

Her stomach clenched, the water of the previous minutes suddenly churning like a whirlpool.

“—but I’ve always noticed you.” He laughed. “Ever since that baseball bat collided with my head, I’ve noticed you.”

She swallowed hard.

“I didn’t tell your father no because I wanted to spend more time with you.”

Pepper covered her mouth, tried to push up from the bed and . . . lost the battle with her insides.