I curse. “I’m sorry. I’m such a mess.”
Traitorous tears press against the backs of my eyes, and I snap them closed again, trying to stop from crying in front of Holland.
“Here. It’s okay.” A hand slides to the back of my neck, gentle yet firm. “Open your mouth.”
I don’t even know what’s going on right now, and usually, I’d have a lot to say about taking orders from him—about not being in control of myself—but right now, I do what he says.
“I’m going to put the pills on your tongue, alright?”
I nod, and then I feel the pads of his fingers and taste the bitterness of the medicine.
“Here’s your water.” The cold lip of a glass is at my lips next, and he guides the drink into my mouth. “Good. That’s a good…job.”
I swallow the ibuprofen hard, registering that Holland just stopped himself from calling me a good girl. The man knows me well. Even in this cold medicine-induced delirium, I think I might have bitten his head off for that one.
“Now you should get some rest,” he says quietly.
I go to lie down, and my ponytail jabs into the pillow. I wince.
“What is it?” Holland is right there, fluffing my pillow, hovering like a mother hen.
“Can you take my hair down?” I rasp.
“I…your hair?” His gaze travels away from my face to the top of my head before he meets my eye again. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”
His hands come up, and I feel the tug at the crown of my head. He gently pulls the band down, and then there’s sweet relief as my hair tumbles free. I whimper with pleasure. I snuggle in and am about to close my eyes when he delicately moves a strand of hair behind my ear.
I blink up at him. “Thanks,” I whisper.
“Don’t mention it.” He’s staring at me with something that looks a lot like affection, but the fever is making me loopy so I can’t trust what I’m seeing. “Now you should sleep,” he says.
I don’t argue. What’s done is done. Holland has me here, at his apartment, in his spare bedroom. So I may as well rest. I can reestablish some boundaries after a long nap.
I awake with a start, and I bolt upright. Where am I? The room is dark. The curtains are drawn. The bed is extremely comfortable.
Holland.
I sigh, covering my face with my hands. Oh gosh, Holland took care of me. Holland brought me to his apartment. How long have I been sleeping here?
I spot my cell phone on the bedside table and check the time. “Six p.m.?” I say the words out loud. I’ve been asleep for eight hours.
I swing my legs to the side and stand. The rest was worth it. My head feels a million times better than it did this morning, but I’m starving.
I waffle for a minute. I don’t want to face Holland…like, at all. But I can’t stay holed up in his guest bedroom forever.
Oh no. What are the producers going to think? I was supposed to be back at Daisy’s Inn by noon, after practice.
This makes me move my feet, embarrassment about Holland seeing me in such a helpless state aside. I scramble for the door and hurry to the living room. The apartment is empty, but there’s a note on the island counter.
Mallory,
I didn’t want to wake you, but I had to leave for my date. I should be back by seven. There’s chicken noodle soup in the slow cooker if you’re hungry, and Inez dropped off a care package from her and the Kasper sisters. I can vouch for how delicious the cinnamon rollsare. I know they’re for you, but if you save me one, I’ll love you forever. Don’t worry about production or getting back to Daisy’s. I talked to Vivian. Make yourself at home, and I’ll see you soon.
H
I read the note through twice. Why does Holland sound so…so nice? And normal? And like he’s actually enjoying taking care of me? Where’s the catch? When is he going to use this as leverage?
Any minute, I’m sure. But if I’m not here after his date, then he won’t have the chance to lord this over me.
