Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I watched as he paced in front of the door as if second-guessing himself.
“It’s Chinese food, and I ordered a variety. I’m not expecting you to eat with me.” He toed the area rug absently. “I just thought…you might want to save it for your one meal. It’ll keep in the fridge, and I can bring it to you in the morning.”
I was floored he’d really thought this through and was respecting my boundaries.
When the delivery guy knocked, Foster opened the door, grabbed the bags from him, then took them to the kitchen.
I followed him to the counter, where he began unloading the cartons. “I didn’t know what you like, so I got a mix of chicken and beef. But some veggies too in case you’re vegetarian.”
I chuckled. “I couldn’t afford to be vegetarian right now.”
His cheeks burned red. “Sorry, I’m just trying to—”
“It’s okay. Thanks for being so thoughtful.” I reached out and squeezed his shoulder, and that seemed to calm him. “Please, relax. I’m the one who should be anxious tonight.”
“I told you, you’ll do just fine.” He glanced over my shoulder. “We can get started, and I can save this for later.”
“No, you don’t have to…” I’ll admit the smell was killing me. “I think I will have some. But only a little, in case it messes with my stomach.”
His expression brightened. “Okay. Let me grab plates.”
I sat down on a stool as he set a plate in front of me and then nudged the containers my way. He got busy filling his own plate as he explained what was what.
I put a scoop of sticky rice on my plate, along with sweet-and-sour chicken. I didn’t give myself time to think about it, just shoveled it in my mouth. As soon as the tangy sauce hit my palate, I moaned. “Oh God, so good.” I scooped more in my mouth and felt his gaze pressing in on me. “What?”
“Nothing, I just…enjoy making you happy.”
My pulse throbbed against my neck. How could he possibly think that about me? Or maybe this was more about feeling gratified by his charity.
“That’s surprising. You hardly know me.” What a stupid response. The man had obviously flustered me.
“I know you well enough by now,” he muttered, looking away.
“I suppose that’s true. In any other circumstance, I’d call you a friend.”
“I’m glad,” he replied as our eyes met. “I feel the same.”
Oscar made himself comfortable at our feet, likely hoping to catch crumbs.
“That’s all I’m gonna have.” I pushed my plate away reluctantly, but I knew it was the right decision. “I wouldn’t mind having leftovers tomorrow.”
“I’ll definitely get them to you.”
“Thanks.”
“Did you love Asian cuisine…before?”
“Definitely. Mostly some fried-rice concoction.” I recalled sharing takeout with coworkers and previous boyfriends, and then thought back to my old apartment with Clint. “I actually liked to cook. I made a mean stir-fry. But Clint always wanted to eat out. He was always arranging dinners with clients for work and loved being social. Not that I didn’t. But not every night.”
Clint had a lot of charisma and liked being the center of attention. It was likely what drew me to him at the beginning. About three years into our relationship, I’d hoped for more quiet evenings at home, but I wasn’t vocal enough. I let him call the shots because I wanted to keep him happy. And I’d lost myself in the process.
“I enjoy eating out, but I’m a homebody too,” Foster said, and I wasn’t surprised by that confession. “I wish I liked cooking more.”
“My mom taught me. We cooked together a lot. She made homemade pizza every Friday night.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“Her pizza crust was just the right amount of chewy. I tried to recreate it, but there was always something missing.”
“Maybe a mother’s magic touch. Tell me more.”
“She was the best.” I felt that familiar ache in my gut every time a memory resurfaced. “We were very close.”
“Is that why you wear those bracelets?” he asked, and I stopped mid-twist of one of them.
“Yeah, they were a gift.” I smiled at the memory of that birthday, a year before she passed. “I slipped them onto my wrist and never took them off.” Clint never understood why I refused to set them aside even when I needed to wear a suit or tux for one of his company’s events.
Foster’s eyes softened. “I like that.”
“When she died, it was hard to live in that house with my dad, so these made me feel like she was still with me,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound too wobbly. It’d been years since I thought about the bracelets; they had become a part of me. “But I knew I needed to stay and make it through high school, or I’d have an even harder time making it on my own.”