His Little Flower (Felix and Flora)

His Little Flower

I got to work, chopping some vegetables and putting out the chicken broth I had made yesterday to boil. A hearty chicken soup never failed to make him feel better. Or at least, it hadn’t before.

As the soup cooked on the stove, I stood against the counter and thought back to the last time Felix had gotten sick while we still knew each other. He’d gotten food poisoning from a new Chinese food place that had opened up. We’d both had the dumplings, but only he had gotten really, really sick. And his parents had gone on some business trip, so he was home alone. I’d nursed him back to health, then, too. And he had been…a mess, really. Throwing up every hour. He could barely keep the food in

We had been so comfortable with each other, then. I didn’t mind him being so messy when he was sick, and he didn’t mind me there to see it.

And now, all this distance between us made me want to throw up. How could two people who had been so close they were almost one, be so distant now? Like we were strangers. Like we didn’t even know each other. Like we hadn’t spent every major moment of our lives until then together.

The pot brewed to a boil, and I rushed to turn the stove off. Pouring some of the soup into a bowl, I put the bowl on a tray and marched up to Felix’s room again.

I knocked but didn’t wait for him to ask me to come in. I barged inside, and saw him in his bed turned to his side.

I walked closer and put the tray on a table, and peered over at Felix. He was sleeping soundly, his nose red and his hair disheveled. I wanted to sit down beside him, put his

head in my lap, and stroke his head softly,

“Felix?” I said softly. He stirred a bit, his eyes fluttering open. He looked terrible. His eyes were sunken and sickly and his face was drained of color. I felt pained at the sight.

What if he had really contracted some weird disease from that girl last night?

“Um,” I cleared my throat, “Chicken soup.” I said, “It will help.”

“Not hungry.” He grunted, tuming on his side and burying his face in a pillow. I hesitated before saying, “You haven’t eaten anything.

He sat up

up with a groan and grabbed the tray. I stared at him expectantly as he took a spoonful and brought it to his mouth. He downed it, and then ate another spoonful. Then

another. He didn’t look at me, but I was so glad he liked it. He finished the bowl as I stood there watching. It was probably awkward for him to be eating while I watched. But I couldn’t help it.

I had always loved cooking for him. There was something inherently romantic in slaving over the stove for the person you loved, perfecting every dish they liked, experimenting with favors you thought they would appreciate. And then watching them eat your labor of love, mouthful and eyes filled with appreciation, finishing the food to the last morsel.

I had missed this

When he was done, he kept the bowl and the tray to the side again. I picked it up. He had gotten into bed and turned away from me, I knew what it meant. He needed me to leave. That was fine. But I had one last thing to say, “Mr. Corsino?” I tried to make the comment sound as nonchalant as possible, “Maybe you should get tested. In case you

contracted something. From someone

He turned to look at me. We both knew what I had meant, and it seemed like he was offended by what I had said.

Did he really care about this woman so much?

How could he have it in himself to love someone else? To

been so long, but I still lived and breathed him

To give one dann about some other person? I couldn’t even think of other men like this. It had

“I don’t believe it is your place to comment on the people associate with, Miss White. Thank you for the soup. You may leave.”

I hurried along. He looked truly pissed off, and I didn’t want to stay long enough to find out what it meant.

In the kitchen, I found Linda again. Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

The sun filtered through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow on the checkered tiles. As I stood at the sink washing dishes, my mind couldn’t help but drift back to Celia.

Linda was wiping down the countertops, humming a soft tune. She seemed absorbed in her own thoughts, which made me wonder if she’d be more open to answering my questions.

“So, Linda,” I began casually, my voice feigning indifference, “Last night, Mr. Corsino had a lady friend over.”

e, a small smile playing on her lips as she continued to clean. “Oh, you mean Celia?”

Linda glanced at me,

I nodded, my eyes still focused on the dishes.

“I’ve seen her briefly a few times. He has only ever brought one woman home, that’s her.,” Linda said, her tone neutral. Why do you ask?”

I tried to keep my curiosity in check. “Just curious, you know. It’s just that they seemed so close.”

Linda chuckled softly. “Flora, don’t go jumping to conclusions.”

I shrugged, pretending to be casual about it. “I just thought maybe they were more than just friends.”

Linda set down her cleaning cloth and turned to face me, her expression thoughtful. “Flora, you’ve got it all wrong. Celia and Felix have been friends for years. She’s practically like family to him.”

I tried to hide my eagerness to know more, my fingers gripping the dish I was washing a little too tightly. “Oh, I see. I just got the wrong impression, I

Linda smiled gently and moved closer. “Don’t worry, dear. It’s easy to misinterpret things. But Felix is a private person. If he had a girlfriend, hed tell me,” She laughed, “Or at least his mom will”

I nodded, though I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness hit me. Seeing him with him her had set fire to my mind. “You re right, Linda. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

She patted my shoulder reassuringly. “No harm done, Flora. Now, let’s finish up these chores.”

As we continued working side by side, I couldn’t shake the lingering curiosity about Felix and Celia. Linda’s words had calmed my suspicions, but small part of me still wondered about their

relationship. With each dish I washed, I tried to put the mutter to rest and focus on the tasks at hand, even though a tiny ember of curiosity still smoldered in the back of my mind.