Eventually, I break the kiss. We’re both panting. Her cheeks are adorable when they’re this flushed. I’m sure this happens often since her skin is so fair and she’s so innocent and easily embarrassed. Her cheeks turn pink when she’s my feisty firecracker, too. Right now she’s aroused, though.
I set my forehead against hers. “Let’s eat dinner. I need to feed you.”
“It smells so good in here. I’m not sure where I’ll put it all, though. I can’t remember when I’ve eaten as much in one day as you fed me at lunch.”
“You need to eat more, sweetheart. Only eat what you want. I never want you to feel like you have to clean your plate or stuff food in when you’re no longer hungry, but I never want you to feel hungry again. When your stomach grumbles, go to the fridge or the pantry and grab something. We’ll figure out what your favorite foods are, and I’ll make sure they’re always on hand.”
The concept of that is foreign to her, but we’ll work on it. I need to remember not to fill her plate too full. She’ll think she has to clean every morsel, and I never want her to feel nervous about leaving food.
I lift her off the counter and stand her on her feet. “Sit at the table, sweetheart. Let me get the roast out of the oven.”
“I could do it,” she says.
“Nope. Let me wait on you.”
“Okay…”
I pull the pot out of the oven and carry it to the table, setting it on a pot holder. I know she’s not used to being waited on, and I intend to make her feel like a princess.
“Who cooked this?” she asks.
“Not sure. We usually take turns. I think it was Andrew’s night. He took out our portion and sent it here so we could be alone.”
“I don’t want your brothers to go out of their way for me. I don’t want them to think I’m a burden.”
I cup her face. “You will never be a burden. You’re one of us now. We take care of each other. We do nice things for each other. We’re a tight family. Eventually, my brothers will all marry, and when they do, we’ll help them out in a similar way.”
“That sounds nice.”
I return to the cabinets to grab plates, but at the last second, I hesitate and come up with a different plan. I only bring one plate to the table. One fork and knife. One glass of water.
Before taking a seat, I fill the plate with too much food, sit at an angle, and pat my thigh. “Come here, sweetheart.”
She stares at me quizzically, her brows furrowed, as she hops off her seat and comes around the corner of the table to me.
I lift her onto my lap, her bottom on my thigh, her legs between mine. Without a word, I stab into a small bite of the beef, blow on it, and bring it to her lips.
She giggles. “You don’t have to feed me.”
“I want to.”
She leans forward and opens her mouth, accepting the bite.
My heart.
She moans around the flavor, her eyes sliding halfway closed. When she swallows, she says, “Wow, that’s so good. I can’t remember ever tasting anything this delicious, except maybe the sandwich you made me earlier.”
My chest tightens at the thought of her not having eaten well for years.
I offer Rebekah another bite, this time of potatoes. I could watch her eat for the rest of my life and never tire of it. I could hold her like this all day, every day, too. The more I think about it, the more I like this plan. If we share a plate, she won’t feel obligated to eat more than she wants, nor will she have too little and be too shy to ask for more.
This is perfect. When she’s full, I’ll eat the rest. Eventually, she’ll be more comfortable in our home and know that she’ll never again have food insecurities. She’ll open the fridge without a thought and grab an apple or a cheese stick. But that’s a long way off. In the meantime, I’ll enjoy feeding her.
I take a bite—much larger than hers—and then offer her more. In between, I tip the glass of water to her lips so she can get a drink.
She twists her head to look at me. “You don’t have to feed me, Adam.”
“Mmmm. I like this idea. I get to hold you close and make sure you eat at the same time. It’s a win-win.” I hold the fork up to her lips again. When she lifts her hand to take it from me, I reach up with my other, circle her wrist, and lower her palm to her lap. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” I say softly.
