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Jami swallowed the food in her mouth, remembering the glass tumbling for her head. “Me too. I doubt my head could have handled another clobbering.” She forced a self-deprecating laugh, expecting him to join her.
Instead, his expression was stern. “I left here last night because you asked me to, but Jami, I need to trust you to put your health first. It’s okay to ask me for help. In fact, knowing when to ask for help shows true strength.”
“Strength, right.” The edges of the fork Jami gripped dug into her skin. Breaking down and asking for help had been what let Andrew in. If she had just sucked it up, she wouldn’t have ever said yes to him. And here she was, expected to just—
“Trust works both ways. I don’t expect you to trust me yet,” Malcolm said.
Jami’s eyes flew to his. He was a damn mind reader.
“All I ask is that you give me a chance until I show my true colors.” He nodded to her frozen fork. “Try to eat some more.”
Jami stared after him. Her hand trembled as she loosened her grip. She stabbed at more fruit, surprised to find it covered a mini pancake.
Celia hadn’t mentioned that her cousin cooked. Of course, it wasn’t like they’d talked much at all. No, it had been more brief passes at group, then that one conversation, the one where Celia had smiled so joyfully when she mentioned she’d send Jami her cousin. Jami had never seen a smile quite like that and had handed her phone to her despite barely knowing the woman.
She forced down as much as she could, which didn’t look like it put a dent in the two plates. Guilt spread inside her. She’d always hated wasting food and had often eaten one day’s helping for multiple days so she wouldn’t throw it away.
Movement in the hall had her looking up at Malcolm’s surprisingly soft footsteps. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t finish it.” She watched as he set a crutch against the wall.
“I wouldn’t expect anyone to eat all that,” Malcolm said, lifting the plates.
“If you pack it up, I’ll eat more later.” She smoothed the bedspread with her hand. She knew she could force herself.
“Good, and I’ll stop by with more food later, during the slow time at the tavern.” When she opened her mouth to protest, Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “You have to eat. Your body needs it to heal.”
“Right, I know.” Jami hated that she didn’t have any money to offer him, though. Not that she’d ever had any. Taking care of her father had never allowed her to work.
“Don’t worry. From what you touched, I’ll be able to pick out more stuff you’ll like.” He glanced at the plates. “It seems you’re not much of a meat eater, like Celia.”
It wasn’t a surprise he’d compare her to his cousin. “That’s not always the case. I like chicken and beef.” She glared at the bacon. “Never much of a pork fan, though.”
“Got it.” He nodded toward the crutch. “Do you know how to use that thing?”
“Of course,” Jami lied.
He studied her face, frowning. “Well, don’t overdo it, but try it out after you rest. Until later, Jami.”
After he left, she settled down in the bed, exhausted even though she hated to admit it. That she couldn’t turn onto her stomach made sleeping hard. That, and how her mind repeated her name in Malcolm’s voice. The way Andrew had said it always made her cringe, but she didn’t hate the way Malcolm said it. Not one bit.
Chapter 8
Malcolmwasstillthinkingabout Jami as he drove to Trenton and Celia’s place. Trenton had texted him to let him know Celia had been released from the hospital.
He had eavesdropped on Jami’s phone call. He hadn’t liked her tone, but nothing specific from her side of the conversation raised any alarms. The bruise on her forehead had turned an ugly green by this morning. He’d had a tough time not grabbing her and tossing her back in bed when he’d first come in. Catching that glass over her head had reminded him just how small she was. He was still angry at the idea of it potentially adding to her injuries, and had lined a few more glasses up on the counter before taking off.
He’d started to doubt his recognition of her until he’d picked her up to carry her back to her room. Her hair carried a familiar citrusy smell. He’d cut off the memory fast. The last thing Jami needed was his sexual interest. Even now, remembering the very first time he had been close enough to pick up her citrusy scent made his body stir.
She’d taken to the fruit options the best out of the food he’d given her, he noted again, distracting himself. He’d do a pickup order when things got slow at the tavern. Reggie could wait tables in a pinch.
The driveway of his cousin’s new place, the first place she’d ever owned, made Malcolm’s tension ease. Celia had planted some flowers behind the fence. Or maybe it had been Trenton. The vegetable garden beyond it was definitely the work of his smoothie-loving friend.
There had been one time when they were teens that Celia had confessed to wanting a house with a fence and a dog running around in the yard. He’d had to push her to share the dream with him. A part of him had always been scared since she had never talked of the future.
Trenton had stopped talking of the future after his wife died as well.
When that prick of an ex of hers had left her with nothing, Malcolm had made Celia promise he’d get to choose her next guy. It wasn’t until after Trenton and Celia had hooked up that Malcolm realized he kind of had.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel before he forced them loose and turned off the truck. Malcolm hoped he was right about what had caused Celia to collapse.
