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“I wish I could eat that for breakfast,” I murmur, drooling. “I love eggs, but protein isn’t my friend. Well, protein alone isn’t—and definitely not in the morning.”
“Why’s that?” Like pasta night, he places his cloth napkin on his lap, picks up his fork, and eats with all the manners of an aristocrat.
“I have reactive hypoglycemia,” I answer. “It means what I eat or don’t eat causes a reaction in my body.”
“My sister has that or something like it because of her pregnancy. Eating is a source of frustration. She has to be meticulous about her meals, says it’s a juggling act.”
“Yes. It is.” I slap the table a little too hard. “I know how she feels. It’s very frustrating, even now, and I’ve had this for most of my life.”
“I’m sorry. I know how hard it can be.”
He’s sorry? Tears sting my eyes. How can he be so caring? So kind? For most of my life, people think I’m exaggerating about my condition because I don’t have diabetes. They don’t understand the struggle and how one day it could turn into that. When you have reactive hypoglycemia as bad as mine, the risk of becoming diabetic is real.
I blink away my tears before he notices how emotional I am this morning. “Thank you for saying that.”
He sends me a warm smile and continues eating his omelet.
It gives me a moment to think. “You said, sister? I thought you were an only child.” I remember Gigi explaining to me back when they visited that one summer when we were kids, that he was an only child and not to ask about his mom because she died. During childbirth, I learned when I was older.
He stops eating, as if I caught him off guard. “I am. Or, I was. I only found out about Macy, my half-sister, during college.”
Half-sister? I want to pry, but this is way too touchy of a subject.
“Any updates on the kittens?” Riley changes the subject.
“Yes, actually. I confirmed our appointment earlier. Linda from the local shelter will be over around two this afternoon. She said they do this a lot—bring pets to houses for adoption. It’s popular in this area.” Like I had thought.
“Make sense. Are you excited?”
“Yeah.” I can’t contain my smile.
Riley’s gaze circles my face before settling on my eyes, his navy blues glinting with white flecks in the sunlit breakfast room. Until this moment, we haven’t made eye contact for long and certainly not in an intimate way like this.
I swallow deep in my throat and grow lightheaded. Not from my blood sugar being low but from his stare, as if he sees into my soul and understands my troubles. I doubt that’s the case, considering we’re just getting to know each other again, but something in my gut tells me his problems aren’t that different from mine.
We finish our breakfast, talking and giggling like old friends. It’s refreshing. Riley has the kind of quiet humor you’d miss if you aren’t paying attention. Justice cracked jokes all the time, but no one laughed. I take that back. No one laughed genuinely. It was more of a fake, forced, you better laugh or risk his wrath. His mood swings were like a revolving door. Happy, then angry, then sad, then happy, and angry again. It was exhausting.
If I could go back and do it over, I wouldn’t have agreed to be his girlfriend or go on tour with him. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. I’d just lost my dad, and Justice was a great distraction from the pain. He’d just lost his grandmother too, so it felt like we had that in common. He could be fun and offered an endless supply of places to visit and things to do. The world and everything in it were a phone call away for him. Sometimes it seemed like he was trying to distract himself from his true feelings, too. I felt a connection to him, even if it was misguided.
Finished with our breakfast, I take my plate and Riley’s to the sink. “I need to brush my teeth, then we can hang out until the kittens arrive if you want. I have background information on each of them and their pictures.”
“Sure.” He nods and pushes in his chair at the table. “I need to squeeze in some time for day trading but that should only take me an hour. Is that cool?”
“You’re a day trader?” I had no idea.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal and slips his hands into his jeans pockets. “I studied finance in college, along with political science at my father’s insistence, but I never wanted to follow in his path. I like making money from behind a computer, where no one can bother me.”
I dry my hands on a dish towel and lower my head to hide my smile. He’s talking about himself, and I don’t want to jinx it. In what I hope is a casual tone, I say, “I can see you liking that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s a loner job, and I don’t see you needing to be the life of the party.”
“Nope. Not an attention seeker.” He stares out the window, his expression contemplative.
“I like that about you. It’s a nice change.”
That draws his gaze back to me. “I bet you haven’t known a lot of loners.”
