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I loved strawberries.
“What about butter?” Sloan wondered.
I made a face. “I like it melted…? Like, on garlic knots—they gotta be buttery. But it has to be completely melted.”
“So far, pretty standard stuff,” Archie noted. “You might as well be lactose intolerant.”
If only it stopped there.
I gusted out a breath and just word-vomited to get it over with. “I love the taste of mushrooms but can’t stand the spongy texture, similar with onion—I can eat it raw, and I love the taste, but never mushy, like in French onion soup or slimy like in onion rings. In short, my vegetables have to be crispy and fresh or crispy and hella deep-fried. And we say we can deep-fry anything in America, but not onion rings. No to onion rings.” I shuddered.
Archie’s mouth twitched with mirth, and he kept writing. “No stir-fry for Corey, then.”
Yeah, no. Hard pass. Which sucked because stir-fry smelled freaking amazing.
“What’s next?” he asked. “That was two, right?”
I squeaked. I’d shared a hundred things now!
“Yeah, I counted two.” Sloan smiled.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re saying that to make me feel better, but it gets worse. There are exceptions to every rule—like, I love pickles and deep-fried zucchini, despite the limp-dick sliminess.”
Sloan barked out a laugh and straightened up, and Archie’s shoulders shook with silent laughter while he wrote.
Oh, whatever. They didn’t have to take this too seriously because they wouldn’t have to put up with my issues for very long. So I might as well share the last two.
“I don’t eat seafood either, except for fish, and never ever any beans.” There. It was all out in the open now.
“Beans and seafood,” Archie replied, adding them to the list. “Anything else?”
I made a noise. “Isn’t that enough?”
He shrugged and scratched the end of his pen against his eyebrow. “We have five kids in this household, Corey. Your dietary restrictions don’t change anything that I don’t already have to make different for Jo, who doesn’t like mushrooms and onion in her food either, or Jamie, who insists shrimp are deformed tadpoles that will become frogs at any moment, or Loki, who thinks peas are a parent’s worst crime, or my own daughter, whose diet consists of whatever I can throw in the blender. If dinner isn’t mashed, she’s not eating.”
Did he mean that? It was really no problem?
I flicked my gaze to Sloan, finding him watching me with a gentle look in his eyes. He was observing again. Or perhaps he just never stopped.
“Even if we didn’t have the kids, your sensitivities aren’t an issue, little one,” he murmured.
“What he said,” Archie agreed. “You’re not coming up with these restrictions out of spite. Why on earth would we complain about something you have no control over?”
I lowered my gaze and wondered what fucking universe I’d stepped into.
How many comments had Marcus made that barely even registered anymore?
“Oh, I forgot. You can’t go there because of all your issues, sweetling. We’ll have to find another restaurant.”
“Maybe if you just tried harder, Corey.”
“I suppose we can grab takeout from different places… Again.”
“It’s just a little bit of onion, pet. You’ll barely feel it! I promise.”
“I have periodic food obsessions too,” I admitted. “One time, I ate nothing but fried chicken for two weeks. I would sacrifice all the chocolate in the world for a box of breath mints—I love mint. Chips too. I can eat chips for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Did I mention fried chicken? And hot dogs—I had a period I ate nothing but hot dogs too.”
I could barely stomach the compassion in Sloan’s gaze. It was as if nothing could scare him away, and that was false. It had to be.
“When you enter one of those periods, can you eat anything else?” he wondered.
I shrugged. “Yeah, sure, it’s just—if I’m left to my own devices, I’ll feed the obsession.” I scratched my head. “I kinda want a mint now, but I stopped buying them when I couldn’t control my intake.”
He inclined his head in understanding. “Sounds like I could help you set up a structure for when you’re hit by one of those obsessions. Balance is good, isn’t it? We want to make sure you get the nutrients you need, but if it makes you anxious not being able to choose your own meal, we can work that out.”
“Yup.” Archie was in agreement. “Open communication will help me prepare. It’s no problem at all, Corey.”
Pressure built up within me, and I didn’t know what to say, how to express myself, or even if it was okay to hope that this was actually happening.
Part of me feared they didn’t know what they were getting themselves into. I mean, talk was easy. Right?
On the other hand, I wanted to help out. An extra mouth to feed this week meant an extra pair of hands to help too.
