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“Jake died.”
Her ex. The one who’d passed of that undiagnosed heart condition she’d somehow twisted into thinking was her fault because they’d been young and fighting and the baggage she carried was heavy. “That wasn’t your fault, either.”
“I—” Teeth pressed into pink again, so hard he was afraid she’d hurt herself, that she’d cut her lip, that’d she’d make herself bleed. Then she released her bottom lip and blew out another breath. “It’snotmy fault.”
“No, sweetheart.”
“Notmyfault.”
“No.”
Another breath. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
Her shoulders straightened, chin coming up, and he watched with wonder as it became okay, as her eyes focused and her manner became resolved. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Okay.” A sharp shake of her head, a quick exhale. “Now,” she said, voice growing stronger, determination in her tone, strength in every inch of this beautiful, capable woman. “You’re treating me to lunch.” She nodded briskly, all business, all focus. He supposed she needed to keep her gaze pointed forward because if it shifted behind her, that urge to run might rear its ugly head again.
And God, but he loved this woman.
Lovedher.
“What do you say?” she asked, tone slightly tremulous, the strength she’d gathered fragile.
He took her hand, turned it over, and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “I’m treating you to lunch.” A beat. “And a double order of sweet potato fries.”
Raven smiled up at him. “Andsoup?”
“Greedy,” he teased.
“With you?” That smile widened. “Always.”
“Damn right you are.” A kiss to the tip of her nose before he leaned close, whispered in her ear. “And yes.Soup.”
She turned her head, nose brushing along his jaw, dragging through his beard. “Will you spring for abowl?”
“Ifyou make the brownies tonight.”
Her eyes went glassy, but she blew out a breath, kept marching forward. “Peanut butter?”
“Puffed rice and raspberry.”
She sniffed, fingers tightening in his. “Deal.”
“Deal,” he whispered, completing the pact. Then he shoved through the doors, but instead of hanging a right to head for the parking lot, heading for that escape route she’d been considering, he drew her to the left, tucking her close to his side as they wove their way through the corridors.
But just before they moved into the cafeteria, she tugged lightly on his hand, drawing him to a halt.
Because the hospital gossip tree was vast—and fast.
No doubt word of Sylvia Montergo’s bullshit had already traveled far and wide.
Raven just stood there, staring at him.
“If you want to hang in the break room,” he suggested gently, knowing that there was no reason for her to feel the need to do that, but knowing that he’d give her that play without an argument. The scene had been intense and was wrapped up in her past and she might be working to accept that her life wasn’t defined by her mother’s bullshit, but that didn’t mean it was easy. “I can grab the food and bring it back.”
More standing.
More staring.
