Summer of Love by Marie Ferrarella (easy to read books for adults list .TXT) 📕

A triumphant look slipped over his face. “Okay, all together now: You have the flu.”

Defeated, Lila sank back onto her pillow as if all the air had been suddenly pumped out of her.

“I really have the flu?” Lila asked him, silently begging him to come up with another explanation.

Rather than answer her immediately, Everett decided to back himself up with evidence. “What’s your throat feel like?”

She didn’t have to think before answering. “Sandpaper.”

“And your head?” he asked, giving her a chance to contradict his diagnosis.

It was getting harder and harder for her to focus because of the pain. “Like there’re twelve angry elves with steel hammers in it trying to beat their way out.”

“Add that to the chills I observed last night and the high fever—which by the way is going down—and you have more than your fair share of flu symptoms.”

“The flu,” Lila repeated in despair, saying it as if it was the mark of Cain on her forehead. “Isn’t there anything you can do for me?” she asked, almost pleading with him.

“I’m doing it,” he told her. “I’m nursing you back to health with bed rest, liquids and I have here a bowl of chicken soup that’s guaranteed to cure what ails you,” he quipped.

He’d found a folding TV tray tucked away in one of the closets and he set it up now next to her bed. When he was satisfied that it was stable, he put the bowl of soup on it along with a large soupspoon.

“See if you can hold that down,” he told her.

Lila looked down into the bowl of soup as if she was trying to make up her mind about it. “Chicken soup?” she repeated.

“Highly underrated, by the way,” he told her. “Apparently, our grandmothers knew something about its healing powers that we didn’t. Seriously,” he told Lila. “Try taking a few spoonfuls,” he urged, helping her sit up and placing two pillows at her back to keep her upright.

The spoon was in her hand, but it remained motionless for now. “Where did you get the soup?” she asked. She knew she didn’t have any canned soups in her kitchen cabinets.

“I had Schuyler bring it,” he answered. He’d called his sister this morning and added that to his first request. “Along with your car,” Everett said.

“My car?” Lila repeated. And then it suddenly came back to her. “My car’s at the Foundation.” Panic had entered her voice.

“Not anymore. Schuyler and her fiancé swung by this morning to pick up the keys to your car. They already drove it over. It’s right outside in your driveway,” he told her.

Lila looked at him in wonder. “You took care of everything,” she marveled.

Everett grinned. “What can I say? I’m an overachiever.”

Lila smiled at his choice of words. “I remember that about you,” she said with almost a fond note in her voice.

When she sounded like that, he could feel himself melting. Now wasn’t the time. “Eat your soup before it gets cold,” he urged.

“And loses its magic healing powers?” she asked in an amused voice that was finally beginning to sound more like her.

“Something like that.”

Lila nodded. “All right, I’ll eat—if you tell me exactly what happened last night,” she bargained.

“I already told you,” he said. Seeing that she wasn’t about to budge until he’d told her the whole story without skipping anything, Everett sighed. “But I’ll tell you again,” he said, resigned. “We were at the restaurant and you suddenly passed out.”

She visualized that now and became horrified. “In front of everybody?”

“Just the people looking our way,” he quipped. “I didn’t take a head count,” he said, doing his best not to get her agitated.

“Nobody called the paramedics, did they?” Lila asked. The last thing she wanted was for this to get around. She wanted to be able to do her job when she got back, not have to constantly be answering a lot of questions because there were rumors circulating about her. Rumors always had a way of escalating and becoming exaggerated.

The thought of having to deal with that made her feel more ill.

“Well, you frightened the server, but I told her I was a doctor and that seemed to satisfy her. So I picked you up and carried you to my car. Our waitress followed us with your purse and the dinners she packed up to go—which, by the way, are in the refrigerator waiting for you once you get your appetite back.”

“How did you know where I lived?” Lila asked suddenly. She hadn’t told him her address.

“I got it from your driver’s license in your purse,” he told her. “Which, before you ask, is where I found the keys to your house. And the car,” he added, “so that Schuyler could drive it here. Okay,” he informed her, “that about catches us up.”

Turning, he was about to return to the kitchen when she cried, “Wait.”

Now what? He did his best not to sound impatient. “I told you everything,” he stressed.

“Weren’t you supposed to go back to your practice in Houston today?” she asked, remembering he’d said something to that effect.

He looked at her pointedly. Was she trying to get him to make some sort of a declaration about the way he felt about her, or was this just an innocent question? “My plans changed.”

“You don’t have to stay here on my account,” she protested.

“Lila, right now a pregnant cat could beat you at arm wrestling with one paw tied behind her back. You have the strength of an overcooked noodle. You need to rest and you need someone to take care of you while you’re resting. I’m volunteering.”

She shook her head and almost instantly regretted it. Her head started swimming and she waited for it to steady itself again. “I can’t let you do that.”

“I don’t recall asking for permission,” he told her. “I’ve got more vacation time coming to me than any two people in my office combined and I’m electing to take some of it now. Now don’t argue