“The soup is fine.” I take another bite. It warms every part of me, comforting me in a way I didn’t know I needed.
It reminds me of being with my mom, of the days I stayed home sick from school and she took care of me and made me soup. We’d watch game shows on TV, and she’d hold me while I napped. He probably doesn’t realize he’s done it, but he’s given me a little piece of my mom back. A little reminder of her. And it means the world to me.
“Thank you,” I begin, suddenly feeling overcome with emotion. “For making this. For all of it.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
I set the spoon down and sit back in my chair. When my eyes meet his, I feel the burning sensation from fighting back tears. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. He just watches me carefully, as if he’s ready to round the table and comfort me at any moment.
“I do, though. I’m sure you’ve missed a lot of work to be here today, and you spent money on groceries—which I’ll pay you back for, by the way—and yeah…just thank you for it all. No one’s ever really done this for me. No one but my mom.”
His eyes soften. He sits up, placing his hands in his lap. “The fact you even offered to pay me back is insulting. I will never take your money, Pippa.” The use of my actual name and not the nickname he’s given me makes it seem like he’s scolding me—maybe he is.
“And I don’t care about missing work today. It can wait. What I care about is that you feel better. I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud, but I like taking care of you.”
Neither one of us looks away. His breath gets faster, but his gaze stays steady. If he regrets giving me that little slice of vulnerability, he doesn’t show it.
“I don’t need anyone taking care of me.” My words come out crueler than I’d intended, but I can’t help it. I don’t want to let my walls down completely. To tell him that today means the world to me.
“I think you do.” He doesn’t seem deterred by me lashing out in the slightest. In fact, he angrily shoves out of his chair, the legs making a scraping sound against the hardwood. Before I can ask him what he’s doing, he’s rounding the table and crouching in front of me.
“I haven’t been here very long, but from what I’ve seen, you’re always taking care of other people.”
I don’t say anything. I’m too lost in the way his fingertips dance along my inner thigh in a comforting motion.
“But after your mom, who’s been taking care of you?”
All I can do is swallow, trying to fight the feelings bubbling out of me. I hate letting people know how I feel. I don’t want people to know their words and actions have power over me. But I can’t help myself at the moment. His words have split me wide open, my vulnerability on full display for him. Now all I can do is hope that we don’t go back to the place where he’d use that vulnerability against me.
“You give so much to your business. Your family. This town. But I think it’s time someone gives something to you. And today, I’m making it me.”
“And tomorrow?” My voice shakes. Maybe it’s because my entire body slightly trembles from his tender words and the gentle caress of his fingertips.
“Well, I’d like to take care of you tomorrow, too, if you’ll let me.”
His piercing blue eyes bore into mine, unraveling every single defense I’ve put up against him. I’m supposed to hate the man who wants to change some of the things I love most about Sutten, but instead, I find myself developing feelings for him. It was a lot easier when there was hate in my heart for Camden Hunter. The feelings that are blossoming deep inside seem like ones that’ll last far longer than any hate.
He looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t have to. By the way he squeezes my inner thigh and the way his eyes travel to my lips for a fraction of a second, I’m confident he’s thinking about kissing me. If I wasn’t worried about making him sick, I’d already be closing the distance between us.
“You done?” He nods his head toward the almost empty bowl of soup.
“Yeah.” My voice is hoarse, but it isn’t because of my throat hurting. It’s because emotion clogs my throat as an unwelcome guest.
I watch him clean up, portioning the soup into small dishes so I can just heat them up in the microwave and eat. He wasn’t wrong about getting groceries. The leftover soup containers barely fit in the fridge with everything else that’s in there.