âWELL do,â Tilda replied.
Then she accompanied Elma downstairs.
Elma went into her room, and Tilda headed to the kitchen, searching for ingredients to make some hangover soup.
Once the soup was ready, she poured a bowl and took it up to Lyndonâs room.
Lyndon was sleeping soundly on the large bed.
Tilda walked over to the bedside and placed the bowl on the nightstand.
Her eyes lingered on his face, noting the discomfort etched in his furrowed brow.
Leaning down, she gently called, âLyndon, wake up and drink some hangover soup.
â
Lyndon didnât stir.
After a momentâs hesitation, Tilda poked his cheek and repeated, âLyndon, did you hear me? Get up and drink some soup.
Youâll feel better.
â
âs BunnyBookery
His thick eyelashes fluttered, his eyes moving behind closed lids before they slowly opened.
When Tilda saw he was awake, she asked, âCan you sit up?â
Lyndon gazed at her with bleary, unfocused eyes, not saying a word.
Under the soft light, the man, usually so distant and composed, seemed almost vulnerable, reminding her of Sheldon just waking up.
Her expression softened involuntarily.
âLyndon, did you hear me? Do you need help sitting up?â she asked again.
This time, Lyndon frowned and mumbled, âI feel uncomfortable.
â
Uncomfortable?
âAre you going to vomit?â she asked quickly.
Lyndon frowned deeper and muttered, âToo hot.
â
Hot?
Tilda looked closely at his face, noticing the flush creeping across his cheeks.
She extended her hand to touch his forehead.
His temperature was indeed high.
He had a fever.