“Say, Caroline, could I take you out to dinner sometime this week?”
I nearly choke on my bite. Wow, way to be direct. And here I thought he was just being polite, doing his job. My throat is itching as I swallow and consider the softest way to turn him down. He didn’t do anything wrong, but well... he is Daniel’s employee, and for some reason, this feels like I’d betray him. Silly, I know. I doubt Daniel would care.
Anyway, I’m not into dating right now. I haven’t been into dating for the past three years. Still have to pluck up the courage to jump into it again, but I keep postponing it, even though I’m lonely as hell. But every time I remember my last two breakups, I conclude that maybe loneliness isn’t so bad. Definitely not bad enough for me to risk another man making me feel small when I tell him I can’t have children. Ever since the diagnosis five years ago, my romantic life turned into a game of chicken.
“I can’t, Marcel. Sorry.” My throat closes up, itching even worse than before. What the hell?
He nods curtly, smiling. “No problem. I had to try.”
“Well, this is—” Talking past the itching in my throat is becoming more difficult. Grabbing the glass of water on the table, I take a sip, but don’t manage to swallow. A hysterical fit of coughing overtakes me.
“Are you allergic to something?” Marcel asks.
Horrified, I lower my eyes to my plate, which I have cleaned. Did anything contain peanut sauce? Why the hell didn’t I pay any attention?
Nodding, I manage to rasp out, “Peanut. EpiPen. Backpack.”
Marcel jumps to his feet. There is a commotion all around me, but my eyes are fuzzy, burning from the effort of trying to breathe. My throat is closing up again. That’s when I realize I don’t have my backpack with me. I left it with the group outside. Oh God, I can feel my tongue swelling. My lips too, I think. Air, I need air. But the more I try to breathe, the less air seems to reach my lungs.
Heaving gasps reach my ears, and panic kicks in when I realize they belong to me. A sharp sting in my outer thigh alerts me that someone’s using an EpiPen. Thank goodness.
“I’m taking her to the hospital,” a familiar voice says. Daniel. He appears in my field of vision, which is very blurred.
“No hospital,” I manage to slur. “Benadryl.”
The next few minutes pass in a haze. Someone forces me to swallow a liquid—probably Benadryl—and then I’m lifted from my seat, warm, strong arms carrying me. I close my eyes because my vision is so blurry that the effort to make out my surroundings makes me dizzy.
When I blink them open again, I’m lying on a bed, and Daniel is shoving more Benadryl into my mouth. Laying my head on the pillow, I close my eyes again, focusing on my breath, which slowly returns to normal. My throat isn’t itching anymore. Tongue appears to be normal-sized too.
I don’t know how much time passes before I hear Daniel whisper, “Caroline, let me take you to a hospital.”
I shake my head, which turns out to be a big mistake—it makes me even dizzier. “No, I’m fine. I can breathe normally. Need to get back to the group.”
“You’re not going anywhere like this. They already left, anyway.”
I blink my eyes open. “What? When?”
“An hour ago.”
“Shit! I’ve been out of it for an hour? I need to—”
“Caroline, relax. Marcel and Honor are with Karla and the kids. They’ll manage fine. You can’t go out right now. Rest for a while. You can always head out later.”
“Okay.” Truthfully, I’m not up to boarding on a boat. Hell, I’m not even up to getting out of this bed.
“How do you feel?”
“Very tired. A bit dizzy.”
Daniel leans forward until his face is level with mine, his chest pressing to my side. “Bad sign.”
“Nah, just side effects of Benadryl.”
He rubs a hand up and down my arm. The gesture is so tender, I swear my heart bursts with hope. Oh no, no, no! I have a hard time keeping myself in check around him even when I’m sober, but when I’m high on Benadryl....
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nod, but Daniel still seems unconvinced. He scoots even closer to me until his chest squishes the side of my right boob. I can feel the ridges of his trained abs pressing against the length of my arm.