HANNAH
The birthday party,coupled with the episode about the credit card bill, made things even frostier in the house.
I hadn’t thought Beau could be any colder or more distant, but I’d been wrong. His disdain for me seemed to emanate from his pores, exhibited by the way he tensed when he was forced to interact with me, let alone make eye contact. And he did. Every time we spoke. I didn’t know why he did it, if looking at me was so abhorrent. To torture me, perhaps? Because whenever our eyes locked, my knees trembled, my lower lip started to shake, and I forgot that I was actually an intelligent—well, educated by books, not any fancy college—grown woman.
A grown woman stuck with an estranged husband and his growing debts, but a grown woman, nevertheless.
My appetite plummeted as my stomach curled in knots every time I was around Beau. Thankfully, he was around less than usual, given Clara’s recovery and his going back to full time at the restaurant. But his presence was everywhere. His scent. The food he made and packaged for us every day. The sparkling counters I was afraid to spill on. The lingering sting on my skin from when our fingers occasionally brushed.
I hated that such an asshole had tangled me up so much that it was affecting me physically.
This was made worse when Beau commented on my appetite, or lack thereof.
“I don’t cook for you to look at it,” he’d murmured tightly—so Clara couldn’t hear the hostility in his words—when I’d brought my practically full breakfast plate to the sink.
I’d done my best to make it look like I’d eaten the eggs and sausage and vegetables—all organic, all tasty, some of the best food I’d tried—but I couldn’t make myself chew and swallow more than a few mouthfuls. Not with Beau’s presence like a dark cloud, not after receiving another email about my plummeting credit score and one from a credit card company who couldn’t make any promises about reversing the charges.
My cheeks flushed at Beau’s comment, shame about the wasted food already filling me. I grew up knowing what hunger, true hunger, felt like. I grew up having to sprinkle sugar on half moldy bread just to choke it down. I understood that throwing away food this fresh, tasty, and expensive was sacrilege. But it was either throw it out or try to force it down then throw up in front of Beau.
“Sorry.” I steeled myself to look up into his harsh, gray eyes. “You really don’t have to cook for me.”
His lips flattened into a thin line. “Are you sick?” he asked aggressively. “You haven’t eaten enough breakfast the past three mornings.”
My eyes widened at him paying enough attention to me to notice that. I’d thought he was doing everything he could tonotnotice me. Then again, I was wasting food that he paid for and prepared, so for once, Beau had a right to his ire.
“I’m not sick,” I quickly replied, knowing that me being sick and not telling him was highly irresponsible. Clara was getting better at a remarkable rate, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t risky,even life-threatening, for her to get sick. That was why we were slowly reintroducing her to other children, with precautions.
“You’re not sick. So you don’t like my food?” Beau continued staring at me with that crushing expression that made my toes numb.
Though I had no reason to give Beau any kind of compliment, words tumbled out of my mouth. “I like your food. I love your food. Your food is the best thing I put in my mouth.”
Beau’s chilly expression changed for a split second as he silently blinked at me, his eyes widening and darkening with a sliver of hunger.
Heat crept up my neck as I witnessed it up close, where I couldn’t explain it away as a trick of the light. My nether regions tingled in awareness, my breath shallowing.
As quick as it arrived, the intense look in Beau’s eyes vanished, and he took the plate from me.
“You’re not sick, you like the food, so you need to eat it.” He spoke in his typically harsh tone, his eyes cutting down my body. “You’re too fucking skinny.”
My blush deepened at his gaze and his comment, which was highly inappropriate considering he was my employer. And he was wrong. I was not too skinny. Even when I was skipping meals, I never looked thin because curvy was my default.
My clothes were feeling a little looser, but nothing that should’ve been noticeable to a man who only looked at me when there was no other choice.
A stronger person would’ve told him off for commenting on my weight, would’ve told him that I could eat however much or as little as I wanted.
But I was not a stronger person. Not where Beau Shaw was concerned. And not when Clara came running into the kitchen asking me to help with her hair.
Thankful for her presence, in more ways than one, I bent down to address her, fighting the burn in the bridge of my nose, a warning of the impending tears.
I wouldn’t waste my tears on this man. I couldn’t.
The next morning, my portion was slightly smaller, so I forced myself to eat, even though I felt the weight of his gaze.
We had no more conversations about my eating habits after that.
My brain continued to run itself ragged, trying to figure out why Beau cared in the first place.
Luckily, there were things to distract me.
