“You asked—”
“Yes, I wanted to make certain I wasn’t hearing things,” he muttered. “But fuck, this might undo me.”
My head shot up off his chest, my towel falling open as I searched his face. Keeping his eyes on me, the perfect man let go of my neck and pulled my towel closed. “I need you to get up, get dressed, and come eat. I thought you fainted due to low blood sugar in here.”
My hand replaced his, holding the towel closed at my breasts.
“Hold on,” he murmured, rising to his feet and nabbing my robe off the ground. He draped it over my shoulders before holding his hand out to me. I stared at it for a moment, knowing—God—knowing deep down that his goodness was more than I could ever deserve. He just didn’t realize it. Once I was on my feet, he pulled the robe closed, and the towel slipped out from under it, pooling around my feet. As he tied it, his gaze lingered on the bruise, and when he finished, it was his turn to gut me.
“I’m sorry, beautiful.”
I shook my head, not understanding. “For what?”
“For not being in your life sooner, for not finding you sooner.”
My lips parted.
“Get dressed,” he commanded, leaving the bathroom.
By the time I finished towel drying my hair, running a comb through it, and twisting it back into a claw clip, my tears had dried. I washed my face, being as careful as I could around the bandage, before applying moisturizer on my way to my room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hayes’ tall body in the kitchen, his hip against my counter, his head bent toward his phone. I blew out a breath as I closed the bedroom door and fished through the giant pile of clean laundry on my chair, searching for my favorite pair of sweats andBuffy the VampireT-shirt.
“Thank you for cooking dinner,” I said to Hayes when I came into the kitchen.
His head came up, his eyes guarded. “You okay?”
Those eyes took me in, looking me up and down, pausing on my pink toenail polish. I bent my head, looking down, and wiggled them. “I know,” I sighed as his gaze slammed into mine. “This shade is a little too light for me.”
He grunted, turned, and handed me a napkin and a fork.
“Uh, thanks?” I looked around, my kitchen clean, the dishwasher running, and the sink empty. “Where—where’s the food?”
“On the coffee table,” he answered, heading to me. Before I could get another word in, he spun me, his hand at my lower back guiding me into the living room.
My eyes dropped, finding my coffee table set, two plates of steaming pasta, two glasses of water, and garlic bread between them. On my TV, he had one of my comfort movies loaded up and ready to play.
“I thought we were talking,” I blurted as he steered me toward the left side of the couch—my usual spot.
“After dinner,” he said, taking his seat. He looked up at me, his face neutral. “Sit. Eat.”
“But—”
“Margo, don’t make me have to feed you.” He cut me off, his voice low.
There was no sense in arguing with him, and the image of him holding me down while spoon feeding me was not unpleasant, but it would certainly complicate my already complicated feelings toward him. Therefore, I took my seat, leaned forward to grab my plate, and tucked my feet under me. Beside me, Hayes was still staring at me, his eyes burning into my profile as I stabbed a thick penne noodle with my fork and brought it up to my mouth. An explosion of flavor hit my tongue: garlic, butter, and…a hint of cumin? A small sound of approval left me as I chewed, bringing my fork down for a second bite.
“Jesus,” Hayes muttered as I shoved another bite into my mouth, my body begging for more.
“This is fucking good, dude,” I said, my mouth full, looking at him. I pointed my fork at him as I swallowed. “Seriously, Grumpy, this is a ten out of ten.”
He blinked, the corner of his mouth tipping up. “It’s just pasta.”
My head fell to the side as I looked at him like he was the most insane person to walk the planet. “Pasta is my favorite food group. It’s very important to me.”
He was chewing his first bite and quirked a brow. “Food group?”
I nodded, stabbing a piece of chicken. “Oh yeah. Pasta is its own category—always has been.”
The sound of his rough chuckle filled my ears then, the beauty of it nearly causing me to drop my fork. I scrambled, adjusting my hold on it and my plate. He was staring at me again. “What is it?”