Page 37 of Say It’s Forever

“Yeah.”

“Rich.”

“What?” He stalks toward me. “That I actually took time out of my day to go get the ingredients for your favorite dinner, that I went to your best friend’s bakery to get your favorite snack and bread, and then planned out the night so that dinner was waiting for you and you could just come home and relax? Yeah, it’s really rich that I put in an effort so we can actually fucking make this work instead of it blowing up in our faces on day two, Grace. Real. Fucking. Rich.”

My breath picks up. I want to argue back, I want to have the last word, but I can’t because he is absolutely right.

He might be doing this for selfish reasons, but those selfish reasons benefit me, too.

And the fact he’s trying is … something.

So I take a deep breath, hold my head high, and say exactly what he wants to hear. “Thank you for dinner.”

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes, and I find it cute as hell. Which is totally fucked up.

“You barely ate it,” he says and then grabs my bowl. “Do you eat in the bath?”

“Not spaghetti.” I laugh, loving the way he just moved on with the conversation instead of turning it into something more.

“Okay, I’ll make you another bowl for when you’re done.”

“Really, it’s⁠—”

“You need to eat, Grace. With the way you work, if you’re not eating enough or eating right, you’ll burn out. I can’t have that. And no, this part isn’t me trying to get you to like me; this is me being a decent human being and reminding you to take care of yourself. As long as I’m here, you’re going to—what?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

“You’re looking at me weird.”

“Sorry,” I say and duck into the bath.

I slowly strip down to nothing, and as I slide into the perfectly hot water, my mind drifts to Preston’s mini rant.

I can’t remember the last time someone was that invested in making sure I took care of myself or attempted to make sure things in my life are working out the way I need them to.

My mom, maybe, when I still lived at home.

Tears prick at my eyes.