“I’m so sorry you’re not feeling well,” Jake whispers in my ear, sliding his other hand around my waist to help me stand.

Closing my eyes, I rest the back of my head against his shoulder.

“Water?” He holds out a glass of water.

I lift my head and take a drink, swishing and spitting in the sink. I should brush my teeth again, but I’m just too tired. It must be the middle of the night.

When Jake scoops me up in his arms, I don’t protest.

When he lays me on the bed next to him, I murmur a thank you.

When he molds his body to the back of mine, his face in my hair, his arms around my waist, I hold my breath and cry silently. I want this Jake.

Every.

Single.

Day.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I wake up alone.

Then I see the sprig of lavender on the pillow next to mine and a short note.

Three simple words: You are beautiful.

Below the pillow is a small bowl of granola and berries with what I assume are edible flowers garnishing the top. I scoot myself up to sitting, glancing around the room. No Jake.

Taking a slow breath, I check in on my body. I feel better. No nausea. Dr. Matthews cured me. Take that, Dr. Lautner Sullivan.

I eat the granola and fruit, passing on the flowers. They are too pretty to eat. And what if they’re not edible? What if they’re payback for the mushroom incident? Pulling my hair back into a ponytail, I rinse off in the shower, brush my teeth, and put back on my blouse and capris. It’s not the first time I’ve worn dirty clothes.

His truck and motorcycle are out back, so Jake must be down at the cafe. I make my way down the stairs, my heels clicking on each wooden step.

“Good morning.” Seth smiles, rushing past me with plates full of food. “Jake’s out front,” he calls just before pushing through the swinging door.

I follow him. A giggly girl bats her eyelashes at Jake as he shows her how to use the juicer. Must be the girl who got my job. She has long, blond hair. Long like mine used to be, only I think hers is all her own. And she’s definitely younger than me.

Her smile loses a touch of momentum when she spies me.

Jake turns. “Morning, Ave.” His smile beats hers by miles. “Feeling better? You look better.”

I nod, trying to ignore the girl who got my job and the way she’s eye-fucking Jake. My memory jumps back to him without his shirt, coming out of the bathroom, and that glorious V cut below his abs, and those faded unfastened jeans.

“Coffee?” Jake asks, wiping his hands.