Page 208 of A Taste of Vanilla

He gently lays it against my lower abdomen, over my leggings.

The warmth starts low and slow. But it’s something.

He disappears again and returns with water, then a packet of gummy worms.

A bag I know is from my super secret stash. The good ones.

The one behind the winter socks and the emergency mascara I bought during a breakdown at CVS.

I stare at him through wet lashes. “How did you find these?”

“I watched you raid that bin the other week.”

“Creep,” I joke.

He shrugs. “Observant.”

“You went into my secret stock.”

“This is an emergency. Pain meds?”

I shake my head, and he grabs the bottle and shakes three pills into his hand, placing them in mine gently before handing me a bottle of water.

When I’m done, he sets the bottle aside and sits on the floor beside the mattress, back against the wall. Close enough for me to reach.

The heating pad warms. The worst of the pain grips low and deep, but the edge begins to dull.

I breathe.

In.

Out.

Warren sits with me.

I open the gummy worms with one shaking hand and eat the first red and green one.

He watches.

“What?” I ask.

“You have an order.”

“I do not.”

“Red and green, blue and green, orange and yellow, and yellow and green.”

“That’s not an order. That’s candy ethics.”

“Explain.”

“Red and green are the best. Blue and green are a close second. Orange and yellow are weird but acceptable. And yellow and green are a palate cleanser for regret.”

He considers this.

“That’s an order.”

“It’s a philosophy.”