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She playfully pouted. “But there’s garlic bread. And mashed potatoes. And chicken-fried steak. I don’t think there’s going to be room for broccoli and beans.”
“Then you’ll eat some of those first.” Spearing up a bean, he held it out to her. She ate it off his fork delicately, seeing his eyes flare.
“You like doing things like this, don’t you?” she asked.
“Like what? Feeding you? Taking care of you?”
She nodded.
“Yes. It feeds something inside me. I’m a man who likes looking after others. I’ve dated several times, but nothing lasted more than a few months. I haven’t had anyone special to take care of since Janie died.”
Could he . . . did he think she was special?
God. It would be amazing to let him take care of her.
“Eat your food,” he told her. “Before it gets cold.”
She moaned as she took a mouthful of the steak. Embarrassment filled her “Awkward, um, sorry. This is just mouthwatering.”
“Ahh, so it doesn’t taste like shit? Good. I had a pizza in the freezer just in case.”
“You were worried?”
“Little bit.” He winked at her. “After dinner, I thought we could spend some time in the hot tub.”
“There’s a hot tub?” she asked.
“Yep. It will help those aching muscles.”
“I didn’t bring a bathing suit, though.”
“Hmm, well, if you like I can give you some boxers and a T-shirt to wear.”
“Okay.” She nodded. That would work.
“Or you could go naked.”
She gulped at that idea. There’s no way she could do that, right?
“I’ll take the T-shirt and boxers. But you can feel free to go naked.”
He eyed her. “Tell me something about you.”
“About me? You know a lot of it.”
“I know you’re a lawyer who worked in New York. I know that you’re kind and caring and sassy and feisty. I know you don’t like riding bikes. And that you’re good at quizzes. And you don’t like being called a brat.”
“See. You know me better than most.”
“So where are you from?”
“Uh, I actually grew up in a small town in north Massachusetts. I moved to the city after college.”
“Your family is still there?” he asked.
“Yeah. My parents are. What about your parents?”
“My parents died a few years ago,” he told her.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It was hard. My mom had a stroke and died first. My dad followed about eight months later. I don’t think he wanted to live without her. They were best friends, and married for fifty-seven years.”
“Wow. And they just had you?”
“My mom couldn’t have any more children after me. But she always said that she got it right the first time.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“You? Any brothers or sisters?” he asked.
She shook her head. The sadness settling over her. Like an old friend that you didn’t want to see again but felt obligated to.
“I had an older brother. He died of cancer when he was twelve.”
“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.” He moved his chair around to sit next to her, wrapping his arm around her. She leaned into him.
“Yeah. It was really hard. For my parents especially. He was their favorite.”
“They had a favorite child?” He sounded horrified.
“Oh, I’m sure they didn’t really.”
Lie.
You just promised not to do that.
“Actually, they did. He was clearly their favorite. I know that they had to spend a lot of time with him. I was only four and he was seven when he was first diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma. I think I was an accident . . . one day I heard my mom tell my dad that they shouldn’t have had me. That I was an extra burden they didn’t need.”
“Motherfucking bastards.” He lifted her out of her chair and into his lap. “What the fuck?”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Kind of messed up, huh? I think they would have been far happier if they’d aborted me. Or if I was the one who had gotten ill rather than Patrick.”
“Baby, no.”
She knew he wasn’t saying that she was wrong or that he didn’t believe her. He was in disbelief over her parents’ actions.
It was weird. For years, she’d lived with the pain of knowing her parents didn’t really love her. And yet, she felt almost numb and removed now when she thought about them.
“They had to spend a lot of time taking Patrick to appointments and trying to keep him healthy. I used to basically take myself to school and come home. I remember one day I got a cold. I think I was seven. My mom locked me in my room. I had to keep away from Patrick. I mean, I understand why she did it. But it was hard being sick and alone. Having meals delivered to me was the only sign anyone even remembered me.”
“No, Gwen.”
She startled, looking up at him, shocked at the utter fury in his face.
This wasn’t her normal calm Dominic. This man was enraged.
For her.
“No?”
“No. You are not going to accept that as . . . as normal.”
