Strays

Chapter 20

When Lindley woke up, she felt more refreshed than she could remember ever feeling. "What a great sleep," she mumbled—it felt like she had slept for days and completely rebooted her system. It was a bizarre feeling waking up in the trailer where she had spent her childhood—it reminded her of better times. She had sat on this bed while her mother painstakingly painted her toes and she tried to keep perfectly still to not jeopardize her pedicure. Then her mom would tickle the bottom of her feet to get her to wiggle and giggle, even if it meant having to rub acetone all over her feet and start over completely.

"Where's my phone?" she asked Wren, but then she saw him on the floor with his head on a balled up sweatshirt. He was sleeping so peacefully that she felt guilty for not being quieter while she woke up. Lindley realized that she had a spare blanket over her, and she had to will herself not to blush. He was sleeping on the ground without a blanket because he wanted to make sure she was warm.

"Hey, sleepy head," she said, unearthing a leg to gently nudge him awake. "Why are you sleeping in the middle of the day? You're not sick."

Wren stirred, flipping around to smile at her. "I sleep when I'm bored; it's a gift." He sat up, groaning. The floor of the trailer wasn't the most comfortable surface for his back. "How do you feel?"

"Alive," she answered with a laugh, pushing herself to a seated position. "Did you put my phone somewhere?" Wren mumbled an affirmative sound, getting up to pull her phone from the charger in the kitchen area. The consideration of this gesture wasn't lost on Lindley. He took really good care of her, and she wasn't used to it. Part of her wanted to grab her things and run, but the largest part of her didn't want to go back to her refrigerator of a home.

"Really, though," Wren asked her, handing her the phone. "Do you feel better?"

"I really do," she answered, taking a sip from the water bottle Wren left in her bed. She wanted to say something—to let him know that she was grateful, but she was completely out of her element. "Um, thanks for all of this. I don't really know what to say."

"Why do you feel like you have to say something?" he asked her, edging himself closer to the bed so he was situated right by her knees.

"Because I completely put you out," she laughed lightly. "You didn't have to do all of this." She gestured around her to the blankets.

"I wanted to," he told her smiling, a clever edge to his lips. "You really don't have to say anything. I feel like you're over-thinking this. You don't have to know what to do with your hands around me, remember?" He pushed himself from the ground and walked over to the kitchen area. "Now, I am starving. Do you want soup? I can heat up soup or make some pasta. Whatever you feel like."

Lindley watched his movement, distracted by the way his baggy shirt hung on his shoulders. He was rarely dressed down; she always saw him in his denim jacket, or a leather jacket, and always ripped jeans. Now he was in a pair of worn gray sweatpants. Did he have anything with color in his wardrobe?

"I actually think I should probably get back home," she answered, her voice sounding stronger now that she was falling back into her role as responsible, independent Lindley. "I'll probably get into trouble if I don't spend the night there."

Wren's grip on the counter tightened, his knuckles going white. "But you don't have heat—you'll just get sick all over again. You shouldn't sleep there until your fever is completely out of your system."

Lindley sighed, looking down at her phone. "I need to take care of that actually." She tapped on her phone for a moment, logging into her family's account to pay their bill. "Look at that," she smiled up at him. "Bill paid. My heat will be back in eight hours."