More Than A Favor (Elaine and Logan) novel Chapter 130

Chapter 130 

Ashton was unlocking his door, carrying a bag of groceries. 

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Perhaps I had opened my door too abruptly because he turned to look at me, his brows furrowing slightly. I stood there, staring at him blankly as though I had lost my ability to speak. 

Finally, he broke the silence. “What’s up?” 

His words snapped me out of my daze, and I quickly shook my head, as if to dismiss his question. 

“Are you sick?” he asked, putting his grocery bag down and walking toward me. 

I was still too muddled to process his words properly. Instead of answering, I just shook my head again. 

Without waiting for an answer, Ashton reached out and placed his hand on my forehead. His touch was cool, and I could hear a faint note of sternness in his voice. “You’re running a fever.” 

I blinked at him, still too dazed to respond. 

Ashton didn’t ask for more confirmation. He stepped past me into my apartment and scooped me up into his arms with such ease that I instinctively grabbed onto him for balance. 

He carried me to the couch and gently laid me down. Looking around, he asked, “Where are your slippers?” 

It was only then I realized I was barefoot. My mind was still wandering, and I blinked at him, unable to respond. 

Ashton’s eyes softened with a hint of helplessness. Without another word, he disappeared into my bedroom and returned with my slippers. He crouched down and placed them at my feet. 

“Do you have a thermometer?” he asked, his voice calm. 

Instead of answering his question, I mumbled, “I want some water.” 

He hesitated briefly before standing to fetch me some, but when he reached the kitchen, he found the kettle empty. 

Rather than boiling water, Ashton returned, picked me up again, and carried me out the door. I was too tired to question him or resist, so I let him take me wherever he wanted. 

Soon, we were at his apartment. He laid me down on his couch and went straight to the kitchen. I could hear the sound of water boiling as he returned with a thermometer in hand. 

“Do you know how to use this?” he asked. 

I froze briefly, not answering. He placed the thermometer in my hand and, as if anticipating that I might fumble or drop it, wrapped his hand around mine. 

“I can’t do it for you, so you’ll have to do it yourself,” he explained patiently. “Put it under your armpit.” 

He waited for me to follow his instructions, his gaze steady and unwavering. 

After a moment, I finally complied, pulling my collar aside and placing the thermometer under my arm. 

Ashton looked away politely and headed back to the kitchen. 

When he returned, he handed me a glass of water and a pill. “Here. Take this.” 

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I obediently put the pill in my mouth and took a sip of water. Although I was usually good at swallowing pills, the water seeped into this one too quickly, and the bitterness spread across my 

tongue. 

Unable to handle the unpleasant taste, I instinctively spat it out. 

#Vend 

Ashton’s quick reflexes saved the pill–and my saliva–from falling onto the floor. He caught it in his hand without showing a hint of disgust. 

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “Have some water, and you can try again later.” 

Seeing my dazed expression, he asked softly, “Do you want something sweet?” 

I didn’t answer, continuing to sip the water he had given me. 

Rising to his feet, Ashton walked away and returned a moment later with a piece of candy. “Here,” he said, holding it near my lips. “It’ll help with the bitterness.” 

I hesitated, memories of my childhood flashing through my mind. My parents used to prepare candy for me whenever I had to take bitter medicine. They didn’t want me to have too much sugar, so the treats were rare, but they never failed to make me feel better. 

After my parents passed, no one ever gave me candy again–not with medicine, not at all. 

“It’s sweet,” Ashton said, brushing the candy lightly against my lips. His gesture was so gentle that I couldn’t resist. 

I opened my mouth, and he placed the candy inside. Almost immediately, tears welled up in my eyes and began streaming down my cheeks. 

“Why are you crying?” he asked softly, cupping my face to wipe the tears away. 

His tenderness only made me cry harder. 

Ashton’s hands moved gently, trying to keep up with my tears. He took the cup from me and squeezed my hand reassuringly. “If the medicine is too bitter, you don’t have to take it. It’s okay.” 

After a moment, he left me alone. I buried my face in my hands, letting the tears flow freely. 

The thermometer under my arm beeped, signaling that it was done. I pulled it out and saw the reading: 38.2°C. 

Ashton returned with a towel wrapped around something cold. “You’ve got a fever,” he said, confirming what I already knew. 

“We’ll use ice to bring it down,” he continued. “Have some water. If your temperature drops, you won’t need the medicine.” 

He gently lifted my legs and helped me lie down on the couch. Then, he placed the ice–wrapped towel on my forehead and whispered, “Close your eyes and rest.”