Free The Romance Novel Cure by Nina Ceves

confided Alma. “If your hair were shorter, it would bring out your features more.”
    “Some lowlights, to add depth,” suggested Scott.
    “No, Scott,” said Laura, reaching over to pat his hand comfortingly.
    “But, also…” She looked down.
    “What?”
    “Well,” she bit her lip, “you’ve got a little… unibrow thing going on.”
    “Totally,” said Scott, “some threading, under the brows, too, would really open up his eye area.”
    “Thread?” I asked, confused.
    “No, Scott,” said Alma, “just the unibrow.”
    “Just a little, to make his eyes pop,” he insisted.
    “No,” said Laura and Alma, together.
    “Pop?” I asked, concerned.
    Scott sulked. He got out his phone. “I’m texting Patrick right now about the make over project.”
    “One more idea,” Alma looked down at the table, “so, this is stupid, whatever, but, uh, when you get a five o’clock shadow? It’s… it looks good.”
    I rubbed my jaw. “Oh, yeah, I guess that would hide all the craters and bumps, all the scars.”
    “What? No,” said Alma, flustered, “I didn’t mean that. It just gives you a kind of a mysterious, ah, interesting vibe. Dark horse.”
    “Yeah,” said Laura, slowly, “ that’s true…kind of an adventurous, off the beaten path kind of thing.”
    “But you definitely must shave your neck,” said Scott, alarmed. “Right to here, the jawline, for an intentional five o’clock shadow look rather than a sloppy, I could not be bothered look. Oh, Patrick is texting back!”
    I held my throbbing eye. Had I just created a monster?
    Seeing that I was not feeling well, Scott insisted I take the rest of the day off. After work tomorrow we’d convene for drinks and shopping and manscaping, whatever that was.
    “No drinks for me,” I ground out as I left.
     
    When I got home, I noticed through a fog of pain that the house smelled like apples baking, and there was music coming from the kitchen. There were lights on. I felt a surge of hope.
    “Hi,” said Greta, coming around the corner. She stopped when she saw me. “You’ve got one of those eye headaches, don’t you?”
    I nodded very carefully.
    “You want to take a shower?” she asked.
    I dropped my bag and headed down the hallway. The pain was increasing, and I could tell it was almost at its worst. Then, I’d just have to wait until it subsided.
    I took a shower, wrapped a towel round my waist and went into the guest room. I paused by my bureau. It was going to hurt to bend down and get a tee shirt and sweats.
    “I got it,” said Greta, softly, coming up behind me. She reached down and got a shirt and sweat pants and stood up. She blinked, starting up at me.
    “Holy moly,” she breathed.
    I squinted at her, swaying.
    “Have you been,” she swallowed. “Have you been working out or something?”
    “Hm?” I croaked. “Yoga. At work.”
    She eased the shirt over my head and smoothed it down over my chest and arms. Through the blur of pain it felt as though she lingered a little. I wished my head didn’t hurt. I sat down on the bed.
    “I’m making you some chamomile tea,” she said, and left the room.
    When she got back, I was under the covers.
    “Can you drink a little?” she asked.
    I couldn’t. I felt sick.
    “You want me to leave, so you can sleep?”
    I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while. Once the eye headache digs in, it’s just a waiting game. “Can you stay for a little while?”
    “Of course.” She sat on the floor by the bed.
    “Can you read to me?” I asked.
    “Read to you?”
    “Yeah.”
    We’d never read to each other before.
    “Um, sure,” she said. “What do you want me to read to you?”
    “ Dreaming Silas . It’s there on my iPad, where I left off reading last time, I think.”
    She was silent.
    “You want me to read…? Okay.”
    After a moment she got my iPad out of my bag. She paused, and then I heard her tapping and swiping the screen. She settled her back gently against the bed