Nodding, I can’t help but agree. It’s a lot for both of us.
“Are you okay enough to fill in some of the blanks for me? Or do you need some space and time to clear your head first?”
Her gaze flits to the table. “I really want pie.”
A girl after my own heart. My stomach rumbles in response, and she laughs. The sound is glorious after the past few minutes of gut wrenching tears.
She sits, but I stay standing, half poised to tackle her if she makes a run for it.
“Sit down, Raffi. I’m not going to leave.”
Slowly, I lower my ass onto the chair and relish the yummy sounds she makes after she takes a huge bite. Leaning towards me with a smile, she points her fork at me. “You know, Megan might make better pies than Brian did.”
Wow. There’s no higher accolade. Brian’s pies are unrivaled.
She narrows her eyes at me. “You called me Victoria.”
“I did.” I carve a giant bite from my slice of pie. “Is that not okay? I feel like you’re more Victoria than Tori, but if you hate Victoria…”
“What?” She tilts her head to the side.
“I don’t want to give you any more reason to plot my death.”
“That obvious?”
Chuckling, I pause the fork on its way to my mouth. “You don’t have a resting bitch face, you have a resting murder Raffi face.”
She laughs again, and it melts the icicles that speared my chest. “In my defense.” She pauses to take another bite of pie and leaves a trail of crumbs along her bottom lip.
Reaching out, I capture the crumbs with my thumb before they fall to the table.
She gasps, her body popping back as she stares at my outstretched hand.
“What?” I lick the buttery pastry debris from my thumb.
Her jaw trembles again. Fuck. What did I do? Did she really want those crumbs? I mean, the pastry is delicious, but it wasn’t that big a piece. She can have mine if it’ll make her better.
There’s a familiarity with her that makes me uneasy. I don’t like how my body instinctively wants to protect this woman I can’t remember, yet at the same time, I want to get to know her.
There’s a reason she’s the mother of my child, and I’m not superficial enough for it to simply be because she’s a beautiful woman.
And she fucking well is.
She touches her fingers to her lip where I brushed off the crumbs. Have I done that before? Is that why she’s so upset by the movement?
“Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
Good choice. One of my top five sandwich fillings.
“You really don’t remember?”
Dredging the corners of my mind, I come up empty. Nothing. Nada. “I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say.
She takes another bite of her pie before she launches into our story. She tells me about the jail and bail, how I shared my sandwiches with her, and convinced her to let me take her on a date.
“Wait. Why didn’t you want to date me? I’m a catch.” Puffing out my chest makes her laugh again, but it’s the eye roll that sets my soul alive. That eye roll was freakin’ impressive.
“Iama catch. I mean, so my mom says.”
