Lizetta barely caught any Zsst night, tossing and turning, and even woke up at the witching hour to


    check on Joseph’s noggin.


    Come moming, she woke up to full daylight streaming through the window and craned her neck.


    Joseph was all snuggled up in the nket, back turned to her and not moving a muscle.


    Lizetta reached out and gave the boy’s head a little rub.


    “The sun’s shining on our butts; time for us ckers to roll out of bed!”


    But Joseph was still out like a light, and Lizetta propped herself up with a chuckle.


    Property belongs to N?vel(D)r/ama.Org.


    the act, get up. Gobble up breakfast and I’ll drop you off…”


    She froze mid–sentence, her face going pale.


    Joseph’s little face was burning up, and tuming him over, she saw a crimson mess under his nose a


    nosebleed had soaked through half the pillowcase.


    “Joseph, wake up! Remi!”


    Lizetta was scared witless, propping Joseph up and grabbing tissues to dab at the nosebleed, shouting


    for Remington.


    Remington responded and pushed at the door, but it was locked from the inside.


    Just as Lizetta was about to hop out of bed to unlock it, bam! Remington burst through the door.


    Seeing Lizetta perched on the bed, panic–stricken, cradling an unconscious Joseph, his brows


    furrowed slightly, and he swiftly wrapped Joseph in the thin nket and scooped them both up.


    “Don’t freak out, just bundle up ande downstairs.”


    His voice was a calm anchor in the storm.


    Lizetta dashed to the door and hurriedly got dressed.


    When she got downstairs, Remington had already tucked Joseph into the back seat of the car and was


    on the phone, seemingly with a doctor.


    Lizetta climbed in, holding Joseph, and the man floored it.


    At the hospital, Joseph was whisked straight into the ER, and Lizetta, watching the closed door, felt her


    legs turn to jelly.


    Remington’s warm, broad chest pressed against her back as he wrapped his arms around her waist,


    steadying her.


    “Got scared?”


    His voice was a soothing rumble, and Lizetta let out a faint grunt, leaning on him for strength.


    She’d never seen Joseph have an episode before, never imagined it could be so terrifying.


    All the way to the hospital, she’d held Joseph, unable to rouse him, his nosebleed relentless.


    “Joseph’s going to be okay, right?”


    Lizetta looked up, her heart in knots.


    Remington guided her to a chair, took an alcohol wipe and carefully started cleaning the blood off her


    hands, one by one.


    “Who doesn’t know he’s the Dashiell family’s troublemaker? What could possibly happen to him?”


    Perhaps his teasing tone eased her a bit, and she snapped back,


    “What kind of brother talks about his own sibling like that? If the Dashiell family has a troublemaker, it’s


    you. Joseph’s always been the angel.”


    “Sure, whatever you say. So, did I manage wreak havoc on you?”


    After cleaning her hands, Remington tossed the tissue away, gave her hand a squeeze, and looked up


    at her.


    The intensity in his eyes made Lizetta’s heart race.


    She thought, isn’t he the biggest disaster of them all? She’d fallen head over heels for him, utterly


    bewitched.


    It was only then she realized how close they were, and she tried to pull her hand back in a panic, but


    Remington suddenly tightened his grip.


    Looking up, he asked,


    “Why the tears over pastasst night?”


    10:05


    Uretta’s eyes darted around, feigning nonchnce.


    Oh nothing really, just sometimes us women get like that, tear up for no good reason.” Remington


    gazed at her intently. “Crying because of some feelings stirred up by the pastas, what was it?” Feeling


    the weight of his probing stare, Lizetta was almost at her limit. She tugged at her hand, irked.


    “Joseph’s still in the ER, and you’re asking me about pasta–induced feelings? There’s nothing.”


    She tried to stand, but Remington suddenly inteced their fingers tightly.


    “If there’s nothing, what are you running from?”


    I’m not running from anything!”


    “But you can’t even look me in the eye.”


    His voice deep, Lizetta took a deep breath and finally met his gaze head–on.


    Her lips, pale, trembled slightly, “Yes, I do miss that vor, the memory of your cooking. Thinking I


    might never taste it again made me a tad sad, that’s all.”