Page 12 of Little Sunshine

I took another tentative bite of my burger, giving my stomach time to adjust.

Behemoth opened the veggie laden salad and dumped the ranch on before pushing it over.

“I don’t like salad,” I told him, too distracted by my nausea to think better of being an ungrateful bitch.

“I don’t care. You can’t just eat protein, fat, and carbs.”

I gestured toward the restaurant counter. “You’re the one who ordered this.”

“Because you need protein, fat, and carbs. But you also need vegetables.”

Gross.

My food pyramid was made up of two zones. Cheap food was at the top. Chicken nuggets. Cardboard-esque budget pizzas. Tater tots. Boxed mac and cheese. White rice. Processed items that could be bought on sale and stretched for multiple meals.

Coffee held the place of honor as the largest section on the bottom. That sludge did a lot of heavy lifting, fueling my body while also giving the illusion of fullness. Some days, it was most of my daily intake courtesy of the unlimited supply at work.

Or, rather, my ex-work.

When there was money in my budget for veggies, it was canned stuff. Not different types of vibrant green lettuce topped with fresh vegetable chunks.

“Eat it,” he ordered.

“You’re bossy,” I snapped before I could stop myself.

Shit, that was rude of me.

Thankfully, he didn’t seem insulted. “So I’ve been told.”

I forked up some of the salad, willing to gag down a bite or two if it would help my stomach. But when I grudgingly popped it into my mouth, it wasn’t gross.

“Holy shit, this is actually good.”

“Language,” he scolded, surprising me. He didn’t look like someone who would be offended by swearing, but what did I know? Dressed in a gray suit and blindingly white shirt—though no tie—he could be one of the religious folks who rolled through on a misguided mission to save the sinners of Vegas. Although they usually didn’t have hands covered in intricate tattoos. “But I’m glad you like it.”

My gaze shot to him, expecting a smirk or an I told you so, but there was nothing.

“I’m used to wilted iceberg and mealy tomatoes,” I said.

He nodded, nudging the salad closer.

I happily ate more because it sat better in my belly than the other food. Once it was halfway gone and my stomach felt more settled, I returned to the burger and fries.

The behemoth didn’t ask any probing questions or even talk. I ate while he drank my rejected chocolate shake.

I used the silence to discreetly study him, wondering who he was and why he was there.

He didn’t look like he was on vacation or out gambling. My guess was business—either a meeting or one of the countless conventions that took place daily. Or the whole religious, save-a-sinner thing.

I didn’t bother to ask because it was none of my business.

When I couldn’t possibly eat another bite, I rewrapped the remainder. He stood and started to pick up the tray, likely to toss it out.

So much wasted food.

Before I could think better of it, my hand shot out and covered his. I snatched it away just as fast. “I’ll bring the leftovers home.”

I knew the fries would taste like shit reheated and the burger would be a soggy mess, but I didn’t care. It was enough for dinner.

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