Blood and Buttercups (A Vampire’s Guide to Gardening #1)

Chapter 5

5

ONE MONTH LATER

I’m pretty sure I’m dying.

I’ve lost about ten pounds, I can’t keep anything down, and if I forget to slather myself in SPF eight billion, I burn up in ten minutes.

I stumble out of the bathroom, gratefully accepting the water Olivia hands me. My nausea has progressively gotten worse in the last few days, and I finally called her to admit something is wrong. I’ve barely made it through the last month. If my grandpa hadn’t installed an automatic drip system into my flower garden for me, I doubt anything would be alive to sell.

And forget the landscape plants. Weeds have taken over. All the flowers in the containers out front are dead, and the ones in the ground desperately need tending.

Grandma would have heart failure if she saw it.

Olivia flashes me a sympathetic look and holds up a pregnancy test. “I think it’s time you take this.”

I give her an incredulous look. “I can’t be pregnant.”

“I get it, you’re careful. But accidents happen.”

“No,” I mutter. “I mean, I can’t be pregnant . Kevin and I never…”

Her mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask. Do you know me at all?”

After one awkward near-mistake in college, I decided I’m waiting. I know it’s not really the thing to do these days, but what can I say? I’ve always been a bit of a rebel.

“Besides, I’ve never heard of pregnant women having intense reactions to the sun,” I point out.

“If you’re not pregnant, you need to call your doctor.” Olivia tosses the test on the couch. “Something is wrong.”

She’s right, and there’s no way I can put it off any longer. I curl up on the couch, pulling my legs up as I slump next to the armrest, and make the call.

“We have an appointment for next Tuesday,” the receptionist says. “I can get you in at three.”

“Do you have something today?” I ask. “I know it’s last minute, but…”

“It looks like Dr. Granger has a fifteen-minute opening at two-thirty. Would you like to schedule a phone appointment with her?”

“Yes, thank you.”

At least she can tell me if my symptoms are weird enough I should head to the ER, or if I can wait it out until next week.

I hang up the call, and Olivia hovers near the front door. “I need to get to the studio…”

In addition to occasionally working for me, she has a part-time job at a paint-it-yourself pottery place.

Listlessly, I wave her off. “Go. I’m fine.”

She frowns. “I should call Max.”

Glaring at her, I say, “We agreed we wouldn’t tell him I’m sick.”

“That’s when I thought you were pregnant.”

I roll my eyes. “Honestly.”

“I’m going to call him. He at least needs to drive you to your appointment.”

“It’s a phone appointment, and I’m fine. I’ll text him if I need him.”

“Should I call in sick and stay with you today?”

“I’m not that exciting, believe me.”

Finally, I convince Olivia to leave. I sip the water, the only thing I can keep down, and watch the clock until it’s time for my appointment. At just one minute after two-thirty, my phone rings.

“Hello?” I croak, and then I clear my throat.

“Hi, Piper, this is Dr. Granger at Middleton Family Physicians. What can I help you with today?”

Here we go.

“For about the last month, I’ve been extremely sick to my stomach. I can’t keep anything down, and I’ve lost about ten pounds.”

The doctor makes a noise like she’s jotting notes into her computer.

“I’m also having a strange reaction to the sun—like I’ve developed an allergy or something. If I go outside for even ten minutes without a high SPF sunscreen, I burn so badly, I get chills and aches for the next few days.”

Dr. Granger makes another noise, this one slightly concerning. “Tell me about your diet, Piper.”

“I’m a vegetarian, mostly. I eat a lot of vegetables and grains, along with milk, eggs, and some cheese. Occasionally, I’ll have fish.”

“No red meat?”

“No.”

“Has anything strange happened to you recently? Have you been bitten by a dog, a cat, or…something else?” She pauses. “Possibly a human?”

Though I was hot and flushed a moment ago, I go cold so quickly, my skin feels clammy. “A bite?” I squeak.

“Yes.”

“Excuse me for a minute,” I say before running to the bathroom and emptying my stomach again.

“Sorry.” I prop myself up next to the tub, clenching my eyes shut. “Yes, a man bit me on a date. It was really disturbing.”

“All right, here’s what I need you to do, Piper,” she says, as if I’ve confirmed something for her. “I want you to call someone and have them stop by the store and buy a nice big steak for you. Cook it to exactly one hundred twenty degrees, then eat the whole thing. It’ll be difficult to get down, but you should feel better after you do. As soon as you’re finished, come into the office.”

“A steak? Like actual cow ?” I ask, the thought of it making my stomach heave again. Thankfully, there’s nothing left in it.

“That’s right, it has to be beef.”

“But I don’t eat meat,” I whisper.

“You do now,” she says like a mother telling a toddler to finish her peas. “I’ll be expecting you, Piper. We’ll do a blood draw as soon as you get here, so hurry in.”

I hang up, and my head spins. She can’t be serious.

Yet I feel awful enough that I’m willing to try just about anything—even that. But if I call Max and ask him to buy me a steak, he’ll know something is up. And I can’t ask Olivia to leave work.

My parents are away for the summer, and I wouldn’t want to hear my dad lecture me about my eating habits anyway. I scroll through my phone, looking for the phone number for the big grocery store that’s only about fifteen minutes away.

“Do you offer grocery delivery?” I ask as soon as I reach a human after about twenty different automated department prompts.

“We do through our website,” the woman says. “We’re scheduled out until tomorrow at noon, but you should be able to get a spot after that.”

“Tomorrow?”

“That’s right.”

“Thank you,” I mumble, hanging up.

That won’t work.

I scroll through my contacts until I get to Howell’s Grocery Store. Britta answers the phone, which is a relief. I certainly didn’t want to talk to her brother.

“Hi, Britta,” I say. “This is Piper. I don’t suppose you do grocery delivery, do you?”

“Hey, Piper,” Britta says brightly. “We do. Do you need to place an order?”

“How far out are you scheduled?”

“Scheduled?” she asks blankly. “Oh, we’re not really. I can bring something by right now if you need it.”

Bless her heart—and not in a snotty Southern way. I mean it down to the tips of my toes. If she were here, I’d give her a great big hug.

“That would be awesome. Can I get a steak and a bottle of sparkling water?”

“Just a single steak and a bottle of sparkling water?” she says, a smile in her voice. “That’s a bit random.”

“My stomach’s off, and that’s what my doctor told me to try.”

“Oh, gosh, I hope you’re not anemic or something,” she says. “What kind of steak?”

“She said it has to be cow .” I say the word like a meat-eater might say “grasshopper” or “kale.”

“Got it—cow steak it is,” Britta laughs. “We’ll get it to you right away. Do you want to pay now with a card, or would you rather use cash? No, you know what, just throw a few extra roses into our next order, and we’ll call it even.”

“You sure?”

“Of course. Remind me what your address is again. We’ll be there soon.”

“You’re the best, Britta.” I’m so relieved, I could cry. “Really, I mean that.”

We hang up after I tell her where I live, and I lie on the couch, waiting. I must doze because it feels like the doorbell rings only moments later, waking me up. I stumble to the door and peer through the glass.

Noah stands on the other side, wearing a green T-shirt sporting his family’s grocery store logo, looking bored.

“Ah, crap, crap, crap,” I whisper.

I don’t even have makeup on—I look like death incarnate. But I can’t leave him out there. He has my hunk of cow.

Steeling myself, I open the door. His eyebrows fly up when he spots me, and I want to crawl into a hole and die.

“Piper?” he asks, incredulous. I’m pretty sure his sister didn’t bother to tell him whom the delivery was for.

He hands me the bag, looking like he wants to say something.

“Thanks,” I murmur, unable to meet his eyes. I haven’t seen him since the night he rescued me. The few times I’ve returned to the store for deliveries, I’ve managed to avoid him. Either that, or he was avoiding me.

“Steak and sparkling water?” he finally asks, as if he just can’t help himself.

“Yeah, I know. I don’t even eat meat, but my doctor gave me strict orders to choke it down.”

Noah frowns at me, and I swear his eyes go to my neck.

Immediately, I raise my hand, covering the spot where Ethan bit me. It healed weeks ago, but there are still two faint scars. It’s barely visible—unless you’re looking right at it.

“You don’t look like you’re up to cooking,” he says reluctantly.

“Oh.” I glance into the bag, squeamishly peering at the red meat. “I’ll manage.”

“I’m good with steak,” he says, like he doesn’t believe me. “I can make it for you.”

I should decline. I want to decline. In fact, I’d almost rather die than let him in while I look like this.

Almost.

“Yeah, okay.” I turn back into the house, leaving the door open. “Thanks.”

I lead him into the kitchen and sit on a barstool at the island, motioning to the stove. “Skillets and stuff are in the bottom cabinet to the right of the oven.”

He pulls the sparkling water out of the bag and hands it to me before going through the cupboard and choosing a cast-iron skillet I’ve never used.

The man is hotter than Arizona in August, and he cooks. He’s easily the sexiest thing that’s ever graced this kitchen, and he’s not even the slightest bit interested in me.

It figures.

He opens the fridge, staring into the nearly empty shelves. I have half a gallon of milk that expired three days ago, some wilted lettuce, a package of tofu, and a jar of green olives.

Noah gives me an incredulous look over his shoulder, but I don’t even care at this point. I rest my cheek on the cool granite counter, waiting for the sparkling water to make me sick again. I only took a few tiny sips, but that’s all it seems to take.

“Do you have lard?” he asks.

“Uh, no.”

“What about butter?”

“There might be some in the freezer.”

He must find what he needs because the sound of sizzling steak fills the kitchen. I nearly gag at the smell.

Too soon, Noah slides a plate across the counter, right in front of my nose. I sit up, staring at it. I forgot to tell him what temperature to cook it to, but what difference does it make?

“Where’s your silverware?” he asks.

“It’s in the drawer next to the fridge.”

He hands me a fork and a steak knife that hasn’t seen a steak since my grandparents lived here.

I cut into the meat, and my stomach twists. “It’s still…um. It’s kinda bloody.”

Noah nods. “It’s rare.”

“Don’t get me wrong—I’m grateful—but I’m not sure I can…”

This can’t be rare—it’s practically raw. Surely people don’t eat this.

“Just give it a try.”

I’m surprised it doesn’t moo when I stab it with the fork.

I cut off a tiny piece and clench my eyes shut, determined to eat it. It’s salty and warm, and the texture is all kinds of freaky. Quickly, I chew just enough I can swallow it. Once I do, I gag a little.

I open my eyes, breathing hard as I cling to the counter's edge.

“Dramatic much?” Noah says.

The spark of amusement in his eyes takes me so completely by surprise, I almost forget about the steak.

I take a sip of sparkling water, waiting for my stomach to object. When it doesn’t, I dare another piece. This time, I manage to eat it with my eyes open. When I’m able to keep it down, I eat a little more.

It’s hard, and I have to be careful not to think about what I’m eating, but somehow, I finish the entire thing.

By the time I’m finished, my dizziness is gone, and my stomach hurts only because my muscles are sore from throwing up so much.

I almost feel human.

Noah stands across from me, looking quietly pleased when I set the fork and knife on the empty plate.

“I did it,” I say triumphantly.

“Yes, you choked down my cooking,” Noah says dryly.

“That’s not what I meant.” I flush. “I’m sure if I liked meat, it would have been good.”

That doesn’t sound much better.

I glance at the clock on the stove. It’s been a little over an hour since I talked to Dr. Granger. “I’m supposed to see my doctor now.”

He frowns, looking me over. “I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to do that. I think I’m okay.”

“You still look a little worse for wear,” he argues.

Under my breath, I mutter, “That’s just what every girl wants to hear from a Greek god.”

“What?”

“I said I’m going to change. If you’re serious about driving me, do you mind waiting a few minutes?”

He waves me off, and I go upstairs and step into the master bath off my bedroom. I take one look at my reflection in the mirror and decide I should have chosen death. I look awful . My skin is pale, and I have dark bags under my eyes. Plus, my hair is a little greasy, though hopefully Noah couldn’t tell since it was up.

I take the quickest shower known to man. After I’m dressed, I brush my teeth without throwing up.

It’s disconcerting how much better I feel.

Because I don’t have time to dry my hair, I pull it into a French braid and even brush on a little blush and a few swipes of mascara.

I’m not going to win any beauty contests, but I look better than I have in days.

When I step into the kitchen where I left Noah, I find it empty.

Strangely disappointed, I return to the living room. Did I take too long? Did he decide to leave?

The pregnancy test lies on the couch, right where Olivia left it. Horror washes over me, and I race forward, stashing it between the cushions. Thankfully, Noah isn’t here either.

Did he see it?

I end up finding him in the entry, standing next to a console table, frowning at a framed photo in his hand. He glances at me, silently taking in my new and improved, not-quite-dying look. He returns the picture to its place next to the lamp. “Are you ready?”

My eyes stray to the photo, and my stomach tightens. Kevin and I were in St. Augustine, and a woman offered to get a picture of us together. I’ve taken all the others down. I’m not even sure why I saved this one.

The police are still looking for his killer, but the culprit seems to have disappeared like smoke in the night.

I went to the funeral. Kevin’s family didn’t know what to say to me, and I didn’t know what to say to them. Their son was a piece of work, but I didn’t want him dead.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” I tell Noah, pulling my purse off the coat rack by the front door.

I follow him to his SUV, feeling a pang of guilt when I pass the dead flowers in the containers by the walk.

“Did you ever hear from that guy who left you stranded at the gas station?” Noah asks when we’re on our way to my doctor’s office.

The casual mention of Ethan makes me shiver. True to his word, he hasn’t tried to contact me. I don’t know what to make of it.

“No,” I say.

Noah nods, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Are they going to miss you at the store?” I ask, glancing at his shamrock green T-shirt. It doesn’t suit him, and yet it doesn’t detract from his extreme hotness either.

“I called to let them know I’m taking the rest of the afternoon off.”

“Sorry,” I murmur, wondering why he’d bother to do that for me.

We arrive at the doctor’s office not too long later. I step out of the SUV, frowning when Noah does the same. “You don’t have to wait. I’ll have my brother pick me up when I’m finished.”

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks, his tone a little too neutral.

I shift my purse strap higher on my shoulder, acutely uncomfortable. “Only if you want to.”

“I’m fine.” He walks toward the door, and I hurry to keep up with him.