“No privacy for us on our first date, huh?” I joke, winkingat Delilah.
Almost like she doesn’t even realize it’s happening, her lips turn up at the corners, a bit of color returning to her face.
The nurses give up trying to move us, setting down our matching trays in front of us. When the plastic lids get removed from over the plates, I fight to keep from outright sneering at the slop they’re trying to pass off as food. Three too-perfect slices of what might only legally be classified as turkey, grainy and also somehow runny mashed potatoes, and something that could have been related to stuffing in a past life.
“The reviews on this place aren’t the greatest. But I’ll put anything in my mouth once, twice if I like it,” I stage whisper to my dining companion, throwing another cheeky wink her way.
Delilah lets out a breathy chuckle, and my heart settles slightly as she seems to come out of whatever trance she’d fallen into. She picks up her spork and gives me a wry smile.
“Bon appétit,” she says.
The whole room stops as I throw my head back and laugh. Maybe this little mission won’t be so dreary after all.
Chapter four
Forthefirsttimein a long time, eating in the cafeteria after one of my sessions isn’t the worst part of my day. I don’t have to speak much, as Mr. King does plenty of talking for the both of us. The longer he goes on, the harder it is to decide if he doesn’t have a filter or if he just likes the sound of his own voice. Either way, I don’t mind. It means I don’t have to talk.
“So, Miss Delilah, what would you give our meal? Three stars?” he asks, scraping up the last bit of mashed potatoes from the little plastic bowl on his tray.
“Um…I guess that’s fair,” I mutter, pushing around some of the sugar-free pudding I’ve barely touched.
“You don’t have to sugar-coat it,” he laughs, putting up his hands and pretending like he’s typing on a computer. “Love Wins Cafeteria had some of the worst service I’ve ever seen. Bland food, clearly microwaved, andnothandmade. At least it was hot. Three stars.”
I laugh again at his antics, looking down at my half-eaten tray. I’m fuller than I have been in a while, almost uncomfortably so. A wave of nausea hits me as I realize I’ve been eating as Mr. King talked, mirroring him subconsciously. It takes me a moment to fight past the panic, hearing phantom words in a voice I can’t acknowledge in the back of my head criticizing, but I push my tray away and turn to look at King again.
He’s talking again, this time about the worst food he’s ever had, with no signs of slowing down. I’d forgotten how chatty some people can be after spending so much time with no one but the nurses and the other patients for company. But it’s not annoying, or anything. King has a voice I feel like I could listen to for hours and never get bored. That accent of his makes it so easy.
Which might be more terrifying than how much I ate today for lunch.
But before I can think more on that, movement draws my attention over King’s shoulder.
“It’s time for group, Mr. King,” his nurse, Cindy, says from his elbow.
He looks up at her for a moment before he turns those strange and beautiful eyes onto me. I freeze, my breath catching, not moving as he searches my face for something. He must find it because he flashes another one of those rakish grins at me.
“If you’re all set, we can head out,” he says to me, basically ignoring Cindy.
“Oh, Delilah doesn’t—”
Mr. King cuts off Claire’s interruption with a growl so strong, I could have mistaken him for an alpha if I didn’t know any better. But there aren’t any alphas at this facility, not as patients at least. I glance around, finding several heads now watching the standoff.
“I–I don’t usually go to group,” I mutter, turning my gaze away before setting down my spoon and shoving the tray away even further.
“Why not?”
I look up at King as he asks the question. I expect judgement or critique, but there’s nothing but honest curiosity in his expression.
“I’m…my treatment plan is different,” I reply, swallowing hard.
That’s not entirely true. I used to attend the group therapy sessions, but they were deemed to be ineffective because I refused to participate. I refused to do a lot of things when I first got here, not that it did me much good.
“Come with me, luv. I’d miss you too much if you didn’t,” King says with a wink.
My cheeks flush hot, and then I look up at Claire. My afternoons are clear, so there isn’t anything that I have to do instead. She sighs and looks at me with a soft, patronizing smile.
“It couldn’t hurt, I suppose. We’ll just—”
“Alright, let’s go!” King says, jumping to his feet.