No More Waiting, She Chooses Love novel Chapter 195

The words I had uttered earlier hung heavy in the air, and I found myself momentarily breathless. I was about to stammer an explanation when Ernest, who had been half-kneeling by the sofa, got up and said, “Dinner’s ready, come have something to eat.”

It was only then that I realized how tightly I had been holding onto him. It turned out that in my dream, it wasn’t my parents I was clinging to, but Ernest—and I had even snapped at him.

Embarrassment made me let go, and as he raised his hand, I saw the deep marks I had left on the back of his hand.

Ernest walked away, and I got up from the sofa, feeling somewhat sticky. It seemed I had broken a sweat, and my fever had subsided.

“Put this on, don’t catch a cold,” Ernest said, bringing over a throw blanket.

I reached out to take it, but my hands, weakened from the fever, failed to grasp it.

Ernest ended up draping it over me. He then handed me a washcloth soaked in warm water to wipe my hands.

In that moment, I felt like a small child again, being taken care of by my parents when I was sick.

“Can you manage on your own?” Ernest asked, setting a bowl of steaming porridge in front of me.

Would he have fed me if I said I couldn’t? If he were my boyfriend, I would have let him without hesitation. But he wasn’t, and the awkwardness of my drunken tirade from the night before still lingered.

I mumbled a quiet yes and tried to scoop a spoonful to show him I could manage, but my hand shook uncontrollably.

He gently steadied my hand, “Take your time.”

“I’d like some water first,” I said, feeling drained after sweating so much.

He seemed prepared, handing me a glass of water that was warm and sweet with honey. It was impossible not to feel touched, yet I couldn’t bring myself to say thank you.

Ernest had prepared a light yet nutritious dinner: shrimp, salad, beef stew, and mushroom soup. All of them were my favorites.

Thinking about what had transpired that day, I bit my fork, unsure of how to begin.

Seeing my hesitation, he didn’t press further, only saying, “Next time you’re sick, just tell me. It’s not okay to bear it alone. You know a fever can turn serious, you shouldn’t be unaware.”

“I didn’t know I had a fever,” I admitted truthfully.

I had felt exhausted upon returning home and fell asleep, sinking into a dreamlike state from which I couldn’t awaken. I hadn’t realized it was a fever.

Luckily, it was his knock that stirred me, allowing him to come in and, in a way, save my life.

“Next time you’re feeling unwell, call me,” Ernest’s tone wasn’t suggesting—he was insisting.

I bit my lip and nodded. “Okay.”