“Are you allergic to anything?”
“No, why?”
“I…” He pauses to consider his next words. “I’ve never shared food I made with anyone other than my sister.” He shrugs dismissively while I’m internally melting into a puddle knowing I’m the second person in the world he decided to share his food with.
Carter gazes straight into my eyes and considers his words for a moment. “It’s pleasant.”
For me, homemade meals are a sign of care. The kinds with no strings attached. It was hard enough to accept being nursed back to health. Not quite lucid the first day, I didn’t know how to take it. Especially since Carter isn’t the Florence Nightingale type.
But this. I hated being more indebted to him. I’m confused and too warm for comfort. “What about your girlfriends?”
Carter stills. “No need to cook for them at home.”
“Why? You clearly know what you’re doing.” I press on because curiosity and suspicion in equal measure won’t let me drop the subject.
A cocky smile lights up his features. “Not that type of girlfriend.” He taps the glass of water and says, “And I’m not that kind of boyfriend.”
The way his eyes bore into mine is intended to drive a point home and the topic is closed. Whatever. His personal life is not my business. I don’t care what he does with those gorgeous women I saw in the articles.
“I’m still confused about those women who came by.”
The abrupt change in topic gives me whiplash. His attempt at conversation sounds more like a yearly performance evaluation, but I play along to keep him talking.
“They struck me as gossipy,” Carter continues.
The smell gets to me, and I take another delicious bite.
“I was happy to be included. I listened to their never-ending dramas, baked elaborate cakes for their birthdays, cooked trays of food when I was invited to their house parties.”
“They were using you.”
“I guess that is why they kept me around.” I burst into a fit of angry laughter. “I baked my own birthday cake for the last eight years.”
“And you continued to be there for them?” he asks incredulously.
“I know why I did it. I don’t need a therapist to put two and two together. I suppose everybody who knows my history at least suspects it.”
The carrot I’m chasing around the plate gets impaled with too much force and almost rolls on the table.
“I’m no fairy tale princess with a golden heart. I’m just scared.” That I’m not enough. I wasn’t for my mother. She taught me that people close to me will leave if I don’t twist myself into whatever they need me to be.
He looks at me like I’m his morning sudoku. “You might be underestimating yourself,” he finally says, and that simple statement blows a fuse in my mental circuit.
In the lull in conversation, I notice the flawless way Carter eats, and I can’t help but sneak glances. Elbows off the table, no clinking with the fork and knife. He places the water glass silently in the same place after taking a sip. The bites are the perfect size when he closes his lips over the fork. I imagine him as a little boy sitting at the end of the family’s formal dining table with a severe woman looking over his shoulder, ready to scold him if he used the wrong spoon.
“Is there anything you want to ask?” He carefully places his cutlery on his plate, giving me his undivided attention.
Any situation when I might annoy somebody puts me on edge, but there’s no impatient sigh. The lines ofhis face are not tense and his eyes are warm and inviting. Jared always made me feel like I asked stupid questions so I got used to keeping my curiosity in check around him and our friends.
But Carter’s patience and rare instance of openness put me at ease.
“Did you have a governess?”
His lips twitch and I regret letting curiosity get the better of me. He’ll shut me down, as he’s done before, keeping his private life away from the weird woman he stumbled upon in the woods.
“More of a high society coach,” he says with a hint of amusement, surprising me. “I couldn’t embarrass my father at the events he dragged me to.”
This extra glimpse into his life startles both of us.
