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“I thought we were starting over?” she asks, sniffing and forcing a laugh.
A wry, cynical chord I don’t like but at least she’s not bawling.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I didn’t mean anything by it… I just had to know,” I tell her truthfully.
“Why would it matter?” she asks, sniffing again and wiping her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose between her eyes.
I don’t answer her but settle for the fact she’s not crying now.
“Hungry?” I offer, trying to change the course this conversation’s taken and glad again when she nods feverishly.
“Starving!” she announces and I usher her through to the kitchen, deliberately avoiding the fact she’s forgotten to close the dryer door.
No dry clothes, not even her bra and panties.
I think Rachel might just have to stay a bit longer than she anticipated after all.
Chapter Seven
Rachel
The smell of good food cooking is enough to lift my mood straight away.
That and the sight of Conor in tight faded jeans and a sweatshirt, cooking it for me. Asking me how I like my steak and not taking no for an answer when I marvel at the size of it.
“I could never eat all that,” I exclaim, my eyes darting from the meat on the plate to the meat in his pants.
He hit a raw nerve asking me if I was taken, but only because it’s what set me off in the first place today with my dad.
Being reminded I don’t have anyone interested in me like that isn’t usually an issue, but with the move coming up and it being Valentine’s Day this weekend. I guess I’m a little more sensitive to it all right now.
“I’ll just give Valentine a little something too,” Conor says, hinting for me to watch the food.
“I can do it,” I suggest, offering to feed Valentine instead, not surprised when Conor makes a face.
People and their dogs.
Like they’re kids or something.
He looks hesitant until I feel Valentine pushing between us both and looking up at me, licking his lips.
Conor laughs. “I guess I forgot who I was dealing with,” he says, handing me a glass bowl filled with the same steak we’re having, but raw and cut into slightly smaller pieces.
“He’s eating this too?” I ask, bewildered.
“Sure,” Conor shrugs. “He’ll have some other food later on, but it’s raw meat. It’s what I always feed him.”
I’m no a butcher, but I know prime steak when I see it.
“He certainly doesn’t look any worse off for it,” I observe, not minding when Valentine barks loudly in reply.
And neither do you, Conor, I tell myself, watching his fine ass when he bends down to get something from the bottom of the refrigerator.
“He’ll show you where his bowl is,” he adds, his back still to me. Valentine tugs at my robe, which almost comes undone.
I realize just how much I could stare at Conor all day, food or no food. Even though I was upset a few minutes ago, I feel like a new person.
Valentine leads me to his bowl and I fill it. He sits patiently, blinking up at me and I wonder if he needs more or if I’m doing it wrong.
“Oh, he won’t eat with anyone watching. It’s just a thing with him. Leave him to it and he’ll be fine,” Conor calls out.
His brows rise up when he sees how much is missing from the bowl, “Too much?” I ask, but he shakes his head and smiles.
“It’s alright. We’ve all had a big day and I need about as much as that myself.”
Conor takes the bowl and puts it aside, guiding me by the elbow to a bench by the windows.
“Take a seat, and we can eat,” he says, making me feel like I’m right at home instead of with what should be a complete stranger’s home.
I’m more like Valentine than I thought too.
Once Conor sits opposite me, our plates almost touching, I realize how self-conscious I am about eating in front of him.
Let alone this freakin’ mountain of food.
Conor shrugs and ignores my silence, setting to work eating his food without a care.
He’s not a noisy eater either, which is a relief. But it does make me feel better that he’s started first, I start to eat shy at first until I realize just how damned good this steak is.
And everything else on the plate.
We eat in silence for a while, until I’m about halfway and feel like taking a rest. Looking up, I notice Conor staring at me, looking pleased.
“You mentioned you needed to call your dad?” he asks, in a friendly way, not in the ‘I’m trying to get rid of you’ way I imagined before.
“Ugh!” I groan without meaning to. “I guess I should at some point. I’m not keeping you from anything am I?” I ask, needing to know now, not wanting to leave.
