Part 51: link
Arthur wakes again some time later to find Gwen gone again. It is now light outside, but it is still very early. He sighs, rolls across the bed, and peeks into the trashcan. Still empty. Well, that’s good, I guess.
He gets up and walks to the bathroom again and is not surprised to find the door closed. He tries the knob and finds it locked this time.
“Gwen?”
“I know, it’s locked. toi do not want to come in here.”
“I don’t?”
“No. Oh…” she moans again.
Arthur is confused now.
“It has moved,” she explains after a moment.
“Moved?”
“I’m not vomiting at the moment, but I am definitely still ill and I definitely need to be in here.”
“Ah. Moved.” He pauses. “Thank toi for locking the door, then.”
Another moan.
I don’t think I want to listen to this. “Do toi need anything?”
“A new digestive system.”
“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’ then. I’ll just… leave toi to it, then.”
“Thank you.”
Arthur walks back to the bedroom. Five forty-five. He picks up his phone and sends a text to Merlin. Call me when toi get up. He sets the phone down and sits on the bed, propping himself up against the headboard.
He hears a flush. Then, a few minutes later, another, which makes him laugh, for some demented reason. Gwen comes staggering back to the bedroom and collapses on the bed, curled on her side, facing him.
“To use one of Autumn’s plus colorful phrases, that sucked.”
“Are toi feeling any better?”
“No. I’m still nauseous, too. For a few minutes there I was—wait, toi probably don’t want to know.” I don’t even want to know.
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re probably right.” He reaches down and pulls the covers over her. She kicks them off.
“I’m hot now.”
Arthur reaches over and feels her forehead again. “You don’t have a fever. toi didn’t before, either.”
“Really?”
“I’ve sent Merlin a text to call me when he wakes. I want him to come check on you.”
“Arthur…”
“No arguments. What’s the point of having a best friend who is an EMT and a registered nurse if I can’t abuse him?”
Gwen starts to laugh and clutches her stomach again.
“Oh, sorry, love!”
“Stop making me laugh.”
“I’ll try, but sometimes I can’t stop it.” He strokes her hair. “Try to go back to sleep.”
Forty-five minutes later Merlin calls. Arthur had turned the volume down on the phone when Gwen fell asleep so it wouldn’t wake her when Merlin rang. He grabs it and gets up from the bed.
“Hey,” Arthur says quietly.
“What’s up?” Merlin asks.
“Gwen is ill. Can toi stop over and take a look at her?”
“Ill how?”
“She was up at three vomiting. Stomach cramps. And now it’s coming out the… uh… other end.”
Merlin laughs, knowing Arthur’s squeamishness on that particular subject. “Fever?”
“None. She was cold before and now she’s hot, but no fever.”
“Hmm. Could be a stomach virus. Could be nourriture poisoning. I’ll be over in a bit. Mum just brought me some chicken soupe yesterday, I’ll bring some for her.”
“Thanks, mate.”
“Any time.”
“What did he say?” Gwen mumbles when Arthur hangs up.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Arthur scolds her.
“I am.”
“He a dit he’d be over in a little bit. He’s bringing toi some soup.”
Gwen’s nose wrinkles.
“It’s his mother’s homemade chicken soup.”
“Oh, that’s different. I hate tinned soup.”
“Is there anything toi want? I’m sure he’d be happy to stop and pick up anything for you. Except for a new digestive system.”
Gwen smiles, then says, “Gatorade.”
“Gatorade?”
“Yes.”
“The sports drink.”
“Yes.”
“All right.” He doesn’t sound convinced, but he dials Merlin back.
“Hey, can toi stop and pick something up for Gwen on your way over?” he asks.
“Of course, what does she want?”
“She wants Gatorade.”
“Oh, that’ll be good for her.”
“Really?”
“Yes, she needs to keep hydrated, and that’ll be excellent for it. What flavor does she want?”
“What flavor, love?” Arthur asks Gwen.
“Orange. ou lemon-lime.”
Arthur repeats this to Merlin.
“I’ll get some of both, then.”
“Thanks again.”
Shortly after seven thirty, there’s a knock at the door. Arthur has stayed awake, with the telly quietly, watching over the slumbering Gwen like a mother hen. He gets up to let Merlin in.
“How is she?” Merlin asks as he walks in and hands Arthur a plastic container filled with soup. He follows him to the cuisine with the Gatorade and they put the soupe and jus, jus de in the refrigerator.
“Threw up once plus not too long ago. She’s sleeping now.”
Their heads turn as they hear the bathroom door close.
“Or perhaps not,” Arthur amends.
They walk back, and Arthur knocks softly on the door. “Guinevere? Merlin’s here.”
There is a sputtering cough from the other side of the door. “Fantastic,” she says.
“She sounds terrible,” Merlin whispers to Arthur.
“I know,” Arthur says, looking worried.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine, Arthur,” he says as they walk back to the bedroom. Arthur plops on the bed, Merlin sits on a chair in the corner, and they wait, watching the news.
They hear the toilet flush and soon Guinevere is shuffling back into the room.
“Wow,” Merlin says, “you look like shit.”
“Yes, well I’ve been puking my guts out all morning. What’s your excuse?” she scowls at him, gingerly climbing onto the bed.
Merlin raises his eyebrows at Arthur.
“I’ve discovered that it’s safest not to aggravate her when she’s ill. She gets… sarcastic,” Arthur says to Merlin with a smirk. Gwen kicks him. “And violent as well, apparently,” he adds.
Merlin stands and crosses to the bed, kneeling beside Gwen. She obediently rolls on her back and looks at him.
“When did your symptoms start?” he asks, placing his hand on her forehead. He’s right. She’s a little warm, but no fever.
“Around three,” she says.
“And toi felt fine last night? When toi went to bed?”
“Yes, I felt great.”
“I can confirmer that. She did indeed feel great,” Arthur interjects.
Merlin gives Arthur with an exasperated look but chooses to otherwise ignore his remark. Gwen kicks him again.
“May I?” Merlin asks, his hand hovering over her stomach.
“Yes,” she says.
He places his hand on her stomach, pressing down slightly. She inhales sharply through her teeth.
“Tender?”
“Yes.”
“Cramping?”
“God, yes.”
“Vomiting and diarrhea?”
She nods. Arthur winces at the word “diarrhea,” and Merlin rolls his eyes. “Baby,” he calls him.
He gently prods her stomach a few plus times, then looks at her. “I know this is the last thing toi want to think about, but what did toi have to eat yesterday?”
She sighs, steeling herself. “I had a pamplemousse and some pain grillé for breakfast, with a cup of tea…”
“No wonder toi were so hungry at lunch,” Arthur comments.
“Shut it, you.” Merlin tells Arthur. “Go on.”
“Lunch, I had an egg salade sandwich, "sandwich" on a croissant and some crisps.”
“From home?”
“No, Arthur and I got sandwiches from a nourriture truck in the park.”
“What did toi have?” Merlin asks Arthur.
“Toasted ham and Swiss.”
“And toi feel fine?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. And dinner?”
“I had a piece of chicken and a salad.”
“Reheated ou fresh? The chicken, I mean.”
“Fresh. Do toi think I have nourriture poisoning?”
“Most likely,” he nods. “The likeliest culprit would be the egg salad.”
“Don’t say ‘egg salad,’ please,” she moans, rolling on to her side.
“Do toi remember the name of the truck?” Merlin asks Arthur.
“Yeah, I think it was like Tommy’s ou Tony’s ou Timmy’s…”
“Gerald’s,” Gwen interrupts. Merlin laughs.
“You may want to see if toi can find them,” he recommends.
“It’s a truck; it could be anywhere,” Arthur sighs.
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t care; the damage has been done already,” Gwen says, her voice muffled as she burrows back into the bed.
“So what now?” Arthur asks.
“Nothing, really. Keep her hydrated, that’s most important. If your stomach is sore, Gwen, toi can put a heating pad ou a hot water bottle on to help soothe the muscles. Even a hot bath, if toi think toi won’t, um, pollute the water.”
“Ew,” Arthur says.
“You’ll definitely be down today and tomorrow. Saturday is possible, too. It depends on how much, um, bacteria, toi ingested.”
“Super,” she moans.
“You’ll be fine, Gwen,” he says, bending to Kiss her forehead before standing. To Arthur, he says, “I presume we’ll be rescheduling, then?”
“You presume correct, sorry, mate.”
“What are toi canceling?” Gwen asks, her eyes closed.
“Nothing major. We were just going to the club to spar a bit,” Arthur says.
“Spar?” She opens one eye. “Are toi boxing now?”
“Fencing, love. We’re both feeling a little out of practice.”
“You can go, I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening.” He turns back to Merlin. “I’ll just have to humiliate toi on the strip another time.”
“Yeah, right,” Merlin says. “You may be bigger and stronger, but I’m faster.”
“All talk, this one,” Arthur says, and goes to walk Merlin to the door.
“Arthur,” he says when they are in the living room, “if she starts feeling dizzy ou disoriented, has trouble moving, ou starts talking nonsense, take her to hospital. Those could be signs of a plus serious nourriture poisoning.”
Arthur looks scared, so Merlin reassures him. “I’m sure it’s not, but toi need to be informed.”
“Thanks, mate.”
“Anytime. Take care of her. Make sure toi bring her some of that Gatorade when toi go back there. And don’t forget to call in to the bibliothèque for her.”
“Yes, Mother,” he rolls his eyes.
Merlin looks thoughtful for a moment.
“What?” Arthur says.
“Oh, nothing. I just realized that I no longer have plans for the day. I think I’ll drop in at the zoo.” He smiles.
“Tell Freya hello for us, then,” Arthur says as his friend exits. Did I just say “us?” he thinks, smiling to himself as he closes the door. Yes, I did. And it felt really good, too.
He stops in the cuisine and grabs a bottle from the fridge. He looks on the counter and sees a packet of straws sitting there, courtesy of Merlin. He opens them and takes one out and carries them back to the bedroom.
“Guinevere?” he asks softly, not really wanting to wake her if she’s sleeping.
“Hmm?” A voice from somewhere in the bed.
“Drink, please, love.” He opens the bottle, inserts the straw and holds it out for her. She sits up a bit and sips cautiously. “Good girl,” he says, setting the bottle on the bedside table, tableau for her. “Where’s your phone?”
“Over there,” she lifts her arm only and points to the wardrobe. “Oh yeah. Call Autumn for me?”
“That was the plan.”
He finds her name and rings her.
“Well, it’s Arthur, actually. Gwen’s ill.”
“Most likely nourriture poisoning.”
“No, but Merlin stopped in and gave her a seeing-to.”
“Probably that nourriture truck we got lunch from yesterday.”
“Gerald’s,” Gwen supplies.
“Gerald’s. Stay away.”
“Probably tomorrow as well, yes.”
“I’ll tell her, thanks, Autumn.”
He hangs up the phone and sets it on the side table, tableau suivant to his phone. “Well, she’s properly horrified. She says to get better quickly.”
“Oh darn, and here I was planning on lingering for a couple weeks.”
He laughs this time. It’s funny when it’s not directed at me.
Arthur sits down on the bed.
“Will toi hold me please?” she asks.
“Of course,” he climbs in, and she curls up against him, her head on his shoulder. He holds her, stroking her back, her hair, s’embrasser the haut, retour au début of her head.
I can’t believe I forgot! “Do toi want some good news?” he asks.
“Please.”
“Father wants to give us the house.”
She leans her head back and looks at him. “What?”
“Yep. He says that we can déplacer in November first. If toi are agreeable, of course.” He runs one finger along her cheek.
“Wow. Really?”
“Yep.”
“Where’s he going to live?” Not with us.
“That’s the funniest part. He’s purchased a penthouse three buildings down from your father.”
“No!” Gwen is wearily aghast.
“Yes. They played golf recently and Tom had him up for drinks after. Father fell in l’amour with the place.”
Gwen laughs carefully, putting her head back down on his shoulder.
“I told him I’d talk to toi before giving him an answer.”
“Good man.”
“Well?”
“Yes. How could I refuse? It’s a free house.” She snuggles against him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, bunching it in her fist on his chest.
“It’s still being built, I guess, which is why November.”
“That’s completely fine.”
“Really?”
“Well, yes. Since the wedding’s going to be there, I’d rather it still be his house then.”
“Good point. That way any mishap ou mess is his problem.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, it would plus likely be Leah’s problem, in actuality.”
“Most likely,” her voice is sleepy.
He kisses the haut, retour au début of her head again and says nothing further, letting her fall asleep on his shoulder.
Part 53: link
Arthur wakes again some time later to find Gwen gone again. It is now light outside, but it is still very early. He sighs, rolls across the bed, and peeks into the trashcan. Still empty. Well, that’s good, I guess.
He gets up and walks to the bathroom again and is not surprised to find the door closed. He tries the knob and finds it locked this time.
“Gwen?”
“I know, it’s locked. toi do not want to come in here.”
“I don’t?”
“No. Oh…” she moans again.
Arthur is confused now.
“It has moved,” she explains after a moment.
“Moved?”
“I’m not vomiting at the moment, but I am definitely still ill and I definitely need to be in here.”
“Ah. Moved.” He pauses. “Thank toi for locking the door, then.”
Another moan.
I don’t think I want to listen to this. “Do toi need anything?”
“A new digestive system.”
“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’ then. I’ll just… leave toi to it, then.”
“Thank you.”
Arthur walks back to the bedroom. Five forty-five. He picks up his phone and sends a text to Merlin. Call me when toi get up. He sets the phone down and sits on the bed, propping himself up against the headboard.
He hears a flush. Then, a few minutes later, another, which makes him laugh, for some demented reason. Gwen comes staggering back to the bedroom and collapses on the bed, curled on her side, facing him.
“To use one of Autumn’s plus colorful phrases, that sucked.”
“Are toi feeling any better?”
“No. I’m still nauseous, too. For a few minutes there I was—wait, toi probably don’t want to know.” I don’t even want to know.
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re probably right.” He reaches down and pulls the covers over her. She kicks them off.
“I’m hot now.”
Arthur reaches over and feels her forehead again. “You don’t have a fever. toi didn’t before, either.”
“Really?”
“I’ve sent Merlin a text to call me when he wakes. I want him to come check on you.”
“Arthur…”
“No arguments. What’s the point of having a best friend who is an EMT and a registered nurse if I can’t abuse him?”
Gwen starts to laugh and clutches her stomach again.
“Oh, sorry, love!”
“Stop making me laugh.”
“I’ll try, but sometimes I can’t stop it.” He strokes her hair. “Try to go back to sleep.”
Forty-five minutes later Merlin calls. Arthur had turned the volume down on the phone when Gwen fell asleep so it wouldn’t wake her when Merlin rang. He grabs it and gets up from the bed.
“Hey,” Arthur says quietly.
“What’s up?” Merlin asks.
“Gwen is ill. Can toi stop over and take a look at her?”
“Ill how?”
“She was up at three vomiting. Stomach cramps. And now it’s coming out the… uh… other end.”
Merlin laughs, knowing Arthur’s squeamishness on that particular subject. “Fever?”
“None. She was cold before and now she’s hot, but no fever.”
“Hmm. Could be a stomach virus. Could be nourriture poisoning. I’ll be over in a bit. Mum just brought me some chicken soupe yesterday, I’ll bring some for her.”
“Thanks, mate.”
“Any time.”
“What did he say?” Gwen mumbles when Arthur hangs up.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Arthur scolds her.
“I am.”
“He a dit he’d be over in a little bit. He’s bringing toi some soup.”
Gwen’s nose wrinkles.
“It’s his mother’s homemade chicken soup.”
“Oh, that’s different. I hate tinned soup.”
“Is there anything toi want? I’m sure he’d be happy to stop and pick up anything for you. Except for a new digestive system.”
Gwen smiles, then says, “Gatorade.”
“Gatorade?”
“Yes.”
“The sports drink.”
“Yes.”
“All right.” He doesn’t sound convinced, but he dials Merlin back.
“Hey, can toi stop and pick something up for Gwen on your way over?” he asks.
“Of course, what does she want?”
“She wants Gatorade.”
“Oh, that’ll be good for her.”
“Really?”
“Yes, she needs to keep hydrated, and that’ll be excellent for it. What flavor does she want?”
“What flavor, love?” Arthur asks Gwen.
“Orange. ou lemon-lime.”
Arthur repeats this to Merlin.
“I’ll get some of both, then.”
“Thanks again.”
Shortly after seven thirty, there’s a knock at the door. Arthur has stayed awake, with the telly quietly, watching over the slumbering Gwen like a mother hen. He gets up to let Merlin in.
“How is she?” Merlin asks as he walks in and hands Arthur a plastic container filled with soup. He follows him to the cuisine with the Gatorade and they put the soupe and jus, jus de in the refrigerator.
“Threw up once plus not too long ago. She’s sleeping now.”
Their heads turn as they hear the bathroom door close.
“Or perhaps not,” Arthur amends.
They walk back, and Arthur knocks softly on the door. “Guinevere? Merlin’s here.”
There is a sputtering cough from the other side of the door. “Fantastic,” she says.
“She sounds terrible,” Merlin whispers to Arthur.
“I know,” Arthur says, looking worried.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine, Arthur,” he says as they walk back to the bedroom. Arthur plops on the bed, Merlin sits on a chair in the corner, and they wait, watching the news.
They hear the toilet flush and soon Guinevere is shuffling back into the room.
“Wow,” Merlin says, “you look like shit.”
“Yes, well I’ve been puking my guts out all morning. What’s your excuse?” she scowls at him, gingerly climbing onto the bed.
Merlin raises his eyebrows at Arthur.
“I’ve discovered that it’s safest not to aggravate her when she’s ill. She gets… sarcastic,” Arthur says to Merlin with a smirk. Gwen kicks him. “And violent as well, apparently,” he adds.
Merlin stands and crosses to the bed, kneeling beside Gwen. She obediently rolls on her back and looks at him.
“When did your symptoms start?” he asks, placing his hand on her forehead. He’s right. She’s a little warm, but no fever.
“Around three,” she says.
“And toi felt fine last night? When toi went to bed?”
“Yes, I felt great.”
“I can confirmer that. She did indeed feel great,” Arthur interjects.
Merlin gives Arthur with an exasperated look but chooses to otherwise ignore his remark. Gwen kicks him again.
“May I?” Merlin asks, his hand hovering over her stomach.
“Yes,” she says.
He places his hand on her stomach, pressing down slightly. She inhales sharply through her teeth.
“Tender?”
“Yes.”
“Cramping?”
“God, yes.”
“Vomiting and diarrhea?”
She nods. Arthur winces at the word “diarrhea,” and Merlin rolls his eyes. “Baby,” he calls him.
He gently prods her stomach a few plus times, then looks at her. “I know this is the last thing toi want to think about, but what did toi have to eat yesterday?”
She sighs, steeling herself. “I had a pamplemousse and some pain grillé for breakfast, with a cup of tea…”
“No wonder toi were so hungry at lunch,” Arthur comments.
“Shut it, you.” Merlin tells Arthur. “Go on.”
“Lunch, I had an egg salade sandwich, "sandwich" on a croissant and some crisps.”
“From home?”
“No, Arthur and I got sandwiches from a nourriture truck in the park.”
“What did toi have?” Merlin asks Arthur.
“Toasted ham and Swiss.”
“And toi feel fine?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. And dinner?”
“I had a piece of chicken and a salad.”
“Reheated ou fresh? The chicken, I mean.”
“Fresh. Do toi think I have nourriture poisoning?”
“Most likely,” he nods. “The likeliest culprit would be the egg salad.”
“Don’t say ‘egg salad,’ please,” she moans, rolling on to her side.
“Do toi remember the name of the truck?” Merlin asks Arthur.
“Yeah, I think it was like Tommy’s ou Tony’s ou Timmy’s…”
“Gerald’s,” Gwen interrupts. Merlin laughs.
“You may want to see if toi can find them,” he recommends.
“It’s a truck; it could be anywhere,” Arthur sighs.
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t care; the damage has been done already,” Gwen says, her voice muffled as she burrows back into the bed.
“So what now?” Arthur asks.
“Nothing, really. Keep her hydrated, that’s most important. If your stomach is sore, Gwen, toi can put a heating pad ou a hot water bottle on to help soothe the muscles. Even a hot bath, if toi think toi won’t, um, pollute the water.”
“Ew,” Arthur says.
“You’ll definitely be down today and tomorrow. Saturday is possible, too. It depends on how much, um, bacteria, toi ingested.”
“Super,” she moans.
“You’ll be fine, Gwen,” he says, bending to Kiss her forehead before standing. To Arthur, he says, “I presume we’ll be rescheduling, then?”
“You presume correct, sorry, mate.”
“What are toi canceling?” Gwen asks, her eyes closed.
“Nothing major. We were just going to the club to spar a bit,” Arthur says.
“Spar?” She opens one eye. “Are toi boxing now?”
“Fencing, love. We’re both feeling a little out of practice.”
“You can go, I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening.” He turns back to Merlin. “I’ll just have to humiliate toi on the strip another time.”
“Yeah, right,” Merlin says. “You may be bigger and stronger, but I’m faster.”
“All talk, this one,” Arthur says, and goes to walk Merlin to the door.
“Arthur,” he says when they are in the living room, “if she starts feeling dizzy ou disoriented, has trouble moving, ou starts talking nonsense, take her to hospital. Those could be signs of a plus serious nourriture poisoning.”
Arthur looks scared, so Merlin reassures him. “I’m sure it’s not, but toi need to be informed.”
“Thanks, mate.”
“Anytime. Take care of her. Make sure toi bring her some of that Gatorade when toi go back there. And don’t forget to call in to the bibliothèque for her.”
“Yes, Mother,” he rolls his eyes.
Merlin looks thoughtful for a moment.
“What?” Arthur says.
“Oh, nothing. I just realized that I no longer have plans for the day. I think I’ll drop in at the zoo.” He smiles.
“Tell Freya hello for us, then,” Arthur says as his friend exits. Did I just say “us?” he thinks, smiling to himself as he closes the door. Yes, I did. And it felt really good, too.
He stops in the cuisine and grabs a bottle from the fridge. He looks on the counter and sees a packet of straws sitting there, courtesy of Merlin. He opens them and takes one out and carries them back to the bedroom.
“Guinevere?” he asks softly, not really wanting to wake her if she’s sleeping.
“Hmm?” A voice from somewhere in the bed.
“Drink, please, love.” He opens the bottle, inserts the straw and holds it out for her. She sits up a bit and sips cautiously. “Good girl,” he says, setting the bottle on the bedside table, tableau for her. “Where’s your phone?”
“Over there,” she lifts her arm only and points to the wardrobe. “Oh yeah. Call Autumn for me?”
“That was the plan.”
He finds her name and rings her.
“Well, it’s Arthur, actually. Gwen’s ill.”
“Most likely nourriture poisoning.”
“No, but Merlin stopped in and gave her a seeing-to.”
“Probably that nourriture truck we got lunch from yesterday.”
“Gerald’s,” Gwen supplies.
“Gerald’s. Stay away.”
“Probably tomorrow as well, yes.”
“I’ll tell her, thanks, Autumn.”
He hangs up the phone and sets it on the side table, tableau suivant to his phone. “Well, she’s properly horrified. She says to get better quickly.”
“Oh darn, and here I was planning on lingering for a couple weeks.”
He laughs this time. It’s funny when it’s not directed at me.
Arthur sits down on the bed.
“Will toi hold me please?” she asks.
“Of course,” he climbs in, and she curls up against him, her head on his shoulder. He holds her, stroking her back, her hair, s’embrasser the haut, retour au début of her head.
I can’t believe I forgot! “Do toi want some good news?” he asks.
“Please.”
“Father wants to give us the house.”
She leans her head back and looks at him. “What?”
“Yep. He says that we can déplacer in November first. If toi are agreeable, of course.” He runs one finger along her cheek.
“Wow. Really?”
“Yep.”
“Where’s he going to live?” Not with us.
“That’s the funniest part. He’s purchased a penthouse three buildings down from your father.”
“No!” Gwen is wearily aghast.
“Yes. They played golf recently and Tom had him up for drinks after. Father fell in l’amour with the place.”
Gwen laughs carefully, putting her head back down on his shoulder.
“I told him I’d talk to toi before giving him an answer.”
“Good man.”
“Well?”
“Yes. How could I refuse? It’s a free house.” She snuggles against him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, bunching it in her fist on his chest.
“It’s still being built, I guess, which is why November.”
“That’s completely fine.”
“Really?”
“Well, yes. Since the wedding’s going to be there, I’d rather it still be his house then.”
“Good point. That way any mishap ou mess is his problem.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, it would plus likely be Leah’s problem, in actuality.”
“Most likely,” her voice is sleepy.
He kisses the haut, retour au début of her head again and says nothing further, letting her fall asleep on his shoulder.
Part 53: link
