When my eyes opened, I knew the worst was over. I still felt like I'd been hit by a vehicle, but the vehicle was closer to a small car than a huge truck. The pain in my throat had gone from nearly impossible to swallow to a dull ache. Something that a few cough drops or hard candies would fix. My headache was as bad as ever, but it wasn't any worse. I still felt queasy in my stomach, sort of like a combination of cramps and the ache you got when you were really, really hungry. If Morelli had a heating pad, maybe I could borrow that. If he didn't, maybe he could borrow my mom's?

Or maybe not. I'd wait and see. I didn't want my mom coming over and fussing, or worse, having her drag me back home and taking over the task of "getting Stephanie well". Food poisoning aside, Joe Morelli had been doing a good job at taking care of me without hovering, and I knew that my mom would hover until she practically suffocated me.

I looked around the room, but Morelli was nowhere in sight. Maybe he'd gone to work. Couldn't say I blamed him—if you got too behind at his job, it would take twice as long to catch up. I didn't want Morelli having to work more nights than necessary on the off chance that I'd get more sick when he was at work and he wouldn't be there if there was an emergency.

I rolled over on my side, taking in the room. I'd spent plenty of nights at Morelli's house in the past, but hadn't paid a whole lot of attention to the details of his room. We'd spent time there together, but the activities that went on in there made the thought of observing the wallpaper or color of his dresser drawers less interesting. Last night, we hadn't had sex, but I'd been too busy running to the bathroom to pay much attention to the physical attributes of his sleeping area.

Morelli wasn't there now to distract me, so I looked around to give myself something to think about. The bed I was sleeping in was either king sized or queen sized. The rest of the room wasn't exactly huge, but there was space to move around in it. The walls were painted light blue, which almost matched the rug. A small mirror hung above a chest of drawers which could double as a vanity table. Not that Morelli did much of that, but the house had belonged to his aunt, and she had probably wanted to use it on occasion to check her hair or makeup. Did the older Morelli women wear much makeup? The wives must have, at some point, in an attempt to look attractive for their husband. Not that it would have made a huge difference, since Morelli men cheated on their wives as a rule. But I guessed that no wife wanted to feel unattractive.

It was a depressing observation. I knew that Joe Morelli had mostly broken out of the mold that his male relatives had set for him. He'd been the only one in his family not to turn into a drunk who cheated on his wife and hit his kids. Then again, the last two might not have happened because he hadn't gotten married yet. Morelli men did get married, and they usually got married on the young side, because they didn't live especially young, yet always managed to father plenty of kids within the marriage state. I knew that Joe Morelli had gotten into more than a few fist fights in his time, and he'd certainly been with his fair share of women. Still, to my knowledge, neither of these things had occurred within the past five years. At least. Burg women loved to gossip, and if Joe Morelli was growing into his father, people would know it. Moreover, my parents wouldn't be nearly as happy with the engagement as they were right now.

Thinking about that increased the throbbing in my head. It wasn't like Joe had proposed in private. He'd done so in front of his mother and grandmother, thereby ensuring that every family in the Burg knew about it by lunchtime that day.

It wasn't that I didn't love Joe Morelli. Well, maybe "love" was taking it a little far, but there was definitely attraction, on multiple levels, and respect for the person he'd become. I felt completely safe with him, and even if he did boss me around at times, I knew it was generally for a good reason. Not that this would stop me from fighting with him tooth and nail. I was proud of my stubborn streak. I hoped it would prevent me from becoming a typical Burg housewife if we made it past the wedding ceremony. I just wasn't ready for marriage. I could see myself spending my life with Joe Morelli, but not necessarily in the traditional "you're my wife, so you must stay home and cook for me and bear my children" way. I knew we'd have to have some hard conversations before a wedding could take place, but I also recognized that neither of us was ready for that. I wanted things to stay the way they were, with us being together and there being an understanding that we were a couple, but not with the implication that I'd soon have to become a cook and baby making machine.

If there was one nice thing about being sick, it was the knowledge that Morelli would take care of me in the future. Even if I complained about him interfering and basically calling him a kidnapper, he'd stay with me and give me food and medicine until I was back on my feet. Rub my back and feet without me even asking him to do so, and just being there with me. That was more valuable than painkillers or cough drops.

I heard footsteps, and then a light knocking on the door.

"Steph?"

"I'm up. You can come in," I croaked.

Ugh. My voice still sounded pretty bad.

He headed into the room and sat down next to me on the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. Not great."

Morelli slid closer to me, and I leaned against him. He took this as a cue to pull me into his arms so I was sitting on his lap. Not something I'd mind, but he was sitting on the blankets, rather than under them, so I felt chilled as he removed me from the protective layers. Immediately realizing his mistake, he muttered "sorry" and pulled the covers over both of us. Much better.

"This okay?"

It was more than okay.

"Yes," I managed, resting my head against his chest as a wave of sleepiness washed over me. "Was I asleep long?"

Morelli began to stroke my hair. "Most of the day, Cupcake. I went into work after you'd been asleep for two hours. I left you a note, but I didn't hear from you, so I assumed you'd been asleep the whole time."

I opened my eyes lazily. "A note?"

He nodded towards the dresser. "Just letting you know I'd be back before 6. I figured you'd be hungry by then." He looked at me hopefully. "Are you?"

I shook my head, even though I knew it wasn't want he'd want to see. But I couldn't help it. I could probably drink some water, maybe eat a few cheerios, but I just wasn't hungry. I wasn't full, but my stomach was not sending me any messages about it needing food. Was I supposed to force myself to eat? I vaguely remembered a saying about feeding a cold and starving a fever—or maybe it was the other way around—but I was pretty sure that was an old wives tale. How was starving—or being force fed—supposed to help your body recover? Unless they meant "starve" as in don't make the person eat because the body will reject the food?

"Maybe some soup?" he pressed, nuzzling my neck with his head. "It might help your throat." He paused. "I made sure all of the other cans looked okay."

After spending half of the last night throwing up, soup appealed to me about as much as birthday cake. Which was, not at all. But Morelli was right—I needed to eat something, and I'd have more luck swallowing a food that was mostly liquid than chewing on something which required actual digestion. Last night had been a fluke. I really didn't blame Morelli—he'd been busy and panicked, after all. I might hold it against him during our next fight, but I really wasn't angry at him right now. Mostly, I was just relieved that the food poisoning incident was behind us.

Sort of. The doctor had told Morelli that I might still need to throw up over the next day or so, but most of the harmful bacteria was out of my system.

I nodded, and Morelli scooped me up into his arms along with a few of the blankets. I must have given him a puzzled look, because he explained that he thought I might want to sit on the couch and watch some TV.

"I'm going to move the TV into the bedroom after you eat," he informed me, once I was settled on the couch and tucked in so tightly I could hardly move my legs. "You'll need to spend the next few days resting, even if you feel completely better by tomorrow, and you'll need something to keep you busy while I'm at work."

I didn't mind the part about the TV, but hearing Morelli tell me that I'd have to stay in bed for the next few days sent a spurt of anger through me. Who did he think he was, telling me to stay in bed?

I'd have liked to give some biting retort about him causing me to get worse, but I stopped myself in time. I wasn't up to a fight, not right now, and he wasn't bossing me around for the sake of being a jerk. If I felt completely better tomorrow or the next day, and Morelli was still babying me, I'd deal with it then. In the meantime, I was still weak, and didn't need to waste any energy yelling at him. Or make my throat any worse by doing so.

He brought the soup in, along with some apple slices, juice, and a pill. I took the pill first, figuring that was the most important, and only gagged slightly as I swallowed it. I'm usually really good with taking pills—not that I need to do so very often. I rarely take multivitamins, even though I know I should. It's one of those things doctors tell you to do—like dentists and flossing—which you know isn't a big deal and won't take very long, but you don't do because it's a pain. And, if you're like me, you resent being told to do so.

I nibbled at one of the apple slices as I waited for the soup to cool down from scalding hot to cool enough to drink without burning my tongue. It tasted the same as yesterday, and I managed to eat all of the chicken, noodles, and most of the broth. By the time I was finished, though, I had no appetite for the remaining apple slices. Morelli snagged those as we watched TV. He kept an arm wrapped around my shoulder as he ate, but I knew he wasn't focused on the game because his eyes kept wandering. He was trying to act normal, but he was concerned and doing a poor job at disguising it.

After Morelli turned off the TV, he kept his promise and moved it into his bedroom. He made me stay on the couch while he moved the TV, saying he didn't want me to fall down the stairs because he couldn't support me. Any other time, this would have sent me over the edge, but I felt touched and grateful that he cared. True, the dizziness had mostly disappeared, but I understood the cause for his concern.

He reappeared in the living room after he'd assembled the TV, which was good because I'd been starting to nod off. Without preamble, Morelli scooped me up in his arms and carried me upstairs.

As a whole, I don't like being carried. Probably, I enjoyed it as a kid, but I was a few feet smaller and at least fifty pounds skinnier. When my mom or dad picked me up and carried me to bed, I felt safe and knew they wouldn't drop me. I especially liked it when my dad held me in his arms, because he was stocky even then, and that made him comfortable to lean against. My mom had been reasonably thin up until her 40's, when she didn't become fat, but became more round. Probably because of all of the butter and whipped cream she used in her cooking. Not that I was complaining. Good metabolism only lasts so long, which is why I intend to make the most of it while I can.

Anyway, being carried as an adult feels weird. Sure, Morelli was a few inches taller than me, and at least fifty pounds heavier—all muscle, I was sure—and I knew he wouldn't drop me. But there's still the sense of instability, and I don't really get the whole romantic side of a guy carrying his girlfriend or wife. Even now, while I was touched by the gesture, I mostly wanted to be on my own feet.

I did the whole brushing my teeth and face thing, and then Morelli walked behind me as I headed to the bed. I was still wearing my flannel nightgown from having changed after going to the ER, so I could skip that step of my nightly bedtime routine. I settled under the covers, felt Morelli secure his arms around me so he was holding me in a backwards hug, and fell into a deep sleep uninterrupted by night sweats, chills, or the need to throw up. When I woke up the next morning, I wouldn't say I felt like myself again, but I felt a lot better than I had the previous morning.

The next couple of days passed with me sleeping, eating small amounts of food only because of Morelli's prodding, watching TV, occasional trips to the bathroom for general hygiene purposes, reading books Morelli picked up for me at the library, and listening to those books via this device called a "Playaway" when my eyes got tired of reading.

I'd never been much of a reader. It just wasn't something I did for fun. I wasn't one of those kids who could pass hours with their nose in a book. My imagination was active, and I preferred to be the one telling the story, creating the adventure. Maybe, with some encouragement, I would have written my own stories, but my parents either didn't think to encourage me to do this, or thought my imagination was active enough without writing my ideas down on paper. My grades had been average, so if I had a talent for writing, my teachers didn't see it. As a result, I plodded my way through school and, eventually, college doing the necessary reading and writing in order to get passing grades.

Reading still didn't exactly appeal to me now, but there was only so much TV I could watch. Morelli was nice and checked in on me, spending time talking with me and giving me back rubs and foot rubs. But he had work to do, especially having taken off some time to get me settled at his house and take me to the ER, so even weekends weren't free of commitment. Books and audio books provided a source of entertainment when I felt like I couldn't sleep anymore without turning into a zombie.

Morelli got me a pretty wide selection of reading material, ranging from celebrity gossip magazines to light adult fiction, to (under the suggestion of the librarian working at the front desk) some young adult fiction which included a few titles pretty popular in the Burg, but I hadn't bothered to get my hands on before.

One of the titles was "Twilight".