Later that evening, after finishing a bowl of chicken noodle soup, Camila Davis still felt a bit weak.
Worried her fever might come back, Dennis Williams insisted she stay and rest through the night. “Let’s wait until morning before you check out,” he said.
Camila didn’t argue, but she still offered, “If you’re busy, you really don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine after some sleep. You can go home—I’ll be good as new tomorrow.”
Dennis gave her a look that brooked no disagreement. “No way I’m leaving you alone in here.”
He glanced down at her, his tone gentle but firm. “You sleep. I’ll crash on the couch. We’ll talk about everything else in the morning.”
With that, he tucked the blanket around her and headed over to the little sofa in the corner.
Somehow, seeing his tall figure settle in nearby made Camila feel safe and cared for in a way she hadn’t expected. Was it really possible for someone to be this considerate and thoughtful? With him there, it was like all her worries melted away.
Wrapped in that sense of security, Camila drifted off to sleep.
She thought she felt a gentle touch on her forehead now and then, but she was too deep in sleep to wake up.
She slept like a rock.
The next morning, when she woke up, her fever was pretty much gone.
Dennis had already arranged for some fresh clothes for her. “Go wash up,” he told her. “Come out for breakfast, and then we’ll get your discharge papers sorted. I’ll take you back to your hotel.”
Camila nodded and did as she was told.
When she came out, she looked a little surprised. The clothes fit perfectly—maybe a little too perfectly.
Wait, she thought, I never told anyone my size, did I?
Dennis, already sitting at the table, noticed her hesitation. “Something wrong? Don’t fit?”
He looked her over—skirt, jacket, all just right. “Looks like my guess was spot on, huh?”
Camila blushed a little. Seriously? He guessed? Just by looking? That was…kind of impressive.


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