I put the tip of a piece of bacon in my mouth and chew slowly, mortified.
Alexander’s eyes flit to my stomach, and a look I can only describe as hunger crosses his face, but I don't feel afraid. He doesn't say anything, though.
“I didn’t eat at all yesterday, so I’m just a little hungry. I’m sorry,” I continue. My chin lowers as I suddenly throw the bacon back on my plate.
I shouldn't let him see me eat like this.
“Nuh-uh,” Alexander says. He snatches up the syrup and pours a healthy amount on my plate, along with some more bacon. “Eat. You deserve sustenance.”
Slightly horrified because he just poured about five hundred extra calories on my plate, I look up before lowering my eyes down to my food again, swimming in syrup. I hesitantly pick up my fork, seeing the syrup drip off it, and swallow nervously.
Chapter sixteen
Something Sweet
Ichewmyfoodquietly, thinking to myself. I can not—would not—scare this woman who’d been through something as traumatic as she'd been. My eyes go down to her breasts,admiring her curves. She's beautiful. Curvy, plump and soft. My entire being hardens and fills with lust. It's so inappropriate, but I can't help it.
She's going to eat everything on her plate. Period.I’ll be damned if she loses her curves.
I blink. Wheredid that thought come from?
Sarah gives me a little look as she puts a forkful of food in her mouth. The tines disappearing behind her dark-pink lips make me tighten as I attempt to lock my body down.
Do not have inappropriate sexual thoughts about a woman who just suffered a fucking miscarriage, you idiot!I chastise myself, keeping my expression still calm and neutral on hers.
I'm proud of myself actually; I don't even think you can tell by looking at me that I'm quite possibly having an existential crisis. Just when I realize my behavior might be coming across weird, I open my mouth to say something, but she beats me to it.
“This is the second apartment I’m looking at. The first one wasn’t good enough because it only had one bedroom and was on the third floor of the building. I wanted this one, a two bedroom—for obvious reasons.But I think it might be a bit…much for me now,” she says sadly, yet conversationally.
Just like a therapist.
I cannot wrap my mind around the way she talks. Her rhythm of speech is perfect and caresses my brain just right. She reminds me of a quiet lullaby in the nighttime when you can't sleep and need something soothing to calm the spirit. How that man fumbled this gem so badly, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to figure out.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask, leaning back and stretching out my legs.
I watch as her eyes flit to mine momentarily before lowering to her plate. She takes a hefty minute to consider my question.
“Welll…" My ears prick at the trilled out word as it almost sounds like she's singing. "It’s a luxury apartment, and I just…I don’tknow.I guess I'm not used to it.”
I watch riveted as Sarah puts another bite in her mouth. Her eyes narrow, and she scrunches her nose as if the thought of living in something luxurious is distasteful to her. I don't like that. She's more than worthy of a wealthy life.
I clear my throat, taking a sip of my drink before responding. “Everyone’s gotta start somewhere. I can’t wait to see it. MaybeI’llrent it before you have a chance to and give you this place,” I joke before sobering, biting the inside of my cheek at how serious I actually feel at the thought.
I’d only bought this house because Hannah wanted it. I never really considered it my home.
“What was that look there?” she asks, taking me by surprise.
My eyes rise to hers. For a minute I’d forgotten she was a therapist. Observant, astute, just like I am.
I put another bite in my mouth, stalling. After a split second, I decide to share. “This house isn’t really my style. My ex-wife wanted it. We divorced years ago, and I just never bothered selling it. Too much hassle when you’re busy,” I say truthfully, instinctively knowing not to lie to her.
“Hm." She chews for a second. "When did you get divorced?”
“Nine, almost ten years ago,” I answer. "Worst mistake of my life."
Sarah’s eyebrows rise as she scoffs, and I watch, fascinated, as an intriguing spark enters her eyes that chases the sadness away for a moment. Something that wavers in the holding space between challenging and defiance. My skin burns suddenly, adding to my dilemma. I watch as she takes a slender hand and tucks a thick lock of dark hair behind her ear. Noting with pleasure that her almond nails give her fingers a beautiful shape.
“So….innine yearsyou haven’t figured out time to sell a house? Why do you live in something you don’t like? Pay absorbent amounts of money for something you don’t evenwant?That’s interesting,” Sarah says, holding another bite to her mouth.
