Page 47 of Checking It Twice
“Good.” She sits up carefully, testing the movement. When her head doesn’t immediately explode, she grins. “Actually good. Like, human again.”
“You sure?” I study her face for signs of lingering pain. “Because three hours ago you were practically catatonic, and migraines don’t just—”
“Mitch.” She places a hand on my arm. “I’m better. It happens like that sometimes. They just... break.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” She glances around at my elaborate blackout fort, the collection of medical supplies on the nightstand, and my phone, which is still open to a research article about neurological pressure points. “Thank you. For all of this. For staying.”
The simple words hit harder than they should. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do, though.” She leans over and kisses my cheek, soft and quick, but it sends heat racing through my bloodstream anyway. “No one’s ever built me a migraine bunker before.”
“It’s more of a tactical darkness situation—”
She laughs, and the sound is so normal, so perfectly Clare, that some tight knot in my chest finally loosens.
“I’m starving,” she announces, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “What time is it? Did I miss family breakfast? Please tell me your family hasn’t been tiptoeing around all day because of me.”
“It’s almost eleven. They’ve been fine.” I watch her stand up, stretch, and move around like a normal person insteadof someone who was incapacitated by pain just an hour ago. “You’re really okay?”
“I’m really okay.” She starts digging through her bag for fresh clothes. “Better than okay. I feel like I could run a marathon. Or at least eat your mother’s pancakes.”
“Clare—”
“What?” She turns to face me, and there’s no trace of the pale, fragile woman who threw up in my bathroom this morning. She’s bright-eyed, energetic, and beautiful, and I’m struggling to reconcile this version of her with the one I’ve been nursing for the past three hours.
“Are you sure you’re not just saying you feel better because you don’t want to ruin Christmas?”
Her expression softens. “I’m not that noble. If I still felt like death, I’d absolutely ruin Christmas.” She moves closer, placing her hands on my shoulders. “I promise I’m fine. Migraines are weird like that. Sometimes they just... lift.”
I nod, but I’m still studying her face, worried she might collapse at any moment.
“Mitch.” Her voice is gentle but amused. “I know you went into full caretaker mode, but you can stand down now. Crisis officially over.”
“Right. Standing down.” But I make no move to get up from the bed.
She grins and tugs on my hands. “Come on, let’s go get some food before your mom sends a search party. I’m pretty sure I heard her pacing the hallway twenty minutes ago.”
I let her pull me to my feet, but I can’t shake the feeling that I should keep watching her for signs of relapse. That’s what you do when someone you care about is hurt—you watch for warning signs, you stay alert, you make sure they’re really okay.
The fact that I’m thinking in terms of “someone you care about” instead of “fake girlfriend” probably says more about where my head is than I’m ready to admit.
“Okay,” I say finally. “But if you start feeling bad again—”
“You’re going to build me another migraine fort, I know it.” She moves toward the door, her energy radiating from her like she’s been recharged. “Come on. I want to see if your duct tape blackout system is visible from the street.”
Chapter Nineteen
Main Street
Clare
Downtown Maple Grove looks like someone dipped a movie set in glitter and good intentions. Every storefront is wrapped in lights, and every window displays the kind of Christmas cheer that makes cynics like me wonder if there’s something in the water here.
But walking down Main Street with Mitch’s hand warm in mine—after he spent the morning building me a migraine bunker out of towels and duct tape—I’m finding it harder to maintain my usual armor of sarcasm.
“You’re staring,” he says, adjusting his grip on the bags he’s insisted on carrying despite my protests. He’s been hovering all afternoon, checking my face for signs of pain every few minutes as if I might spontaneously combust.
