Page 46 of The Refiner

You could say I’ve been burned by men, Dr. Potter, and so far, I’m not impressed with the overall species.

Except for you.

You seem to be the cool weirdo in the Dong Association.

“I’m just an asshole.” It’s partly the truth. I’ve been an asshole to him and Ass Face and others. It’s safe to say I’m not at a sweet phase in my life.

Walking over, he places the food in front of me. “I highly doubt that. I’ve met assholes before. You aren’t one of them.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I shovel in a massive bite of food. “Ow!” I mumble around the scorching hot pasta.

“It’s hot. I’d let it cool off if I were you.”

Now he tells me.

“Here.” He picks up the plate and blows.

I swear my eyes widen to the size of the plate itself. This man—this surgeon—is blowing on my food. Like I’m a child.

“Now,” he places the plate back in front of me, “try it.”

Now try it.

Like it’s the most normal thing for two strangers to do. I don’t even have the heart to say something snarky about the likelihood that he just spit on my food. All that courses through my body, heating my fingertips, is the memory of my sister doing the same thing when I was sick, and she made me chicken noodle soup.

This can’t be healthy, right?

I mean, surely Astor does this for everyone. It’s not just me. I’m not special to him. He feels sorry for me and is trying to do for me what any big brother would. Like Piper, he can’t help himself. Doctors go into the field of medicine to help people. They have God complexes.

Yes, that is all this is. Astor is being nice to me because it makes him feel better.

“Thank you,” I manage to choke out.

He tips his chin, a slight redness flushing along his cheeks. “I don’t use the microwave very often.”

Is this his way of saying he’s sorry for nuking dinner and burning the roof of my mouth?

“I eat out most nights.”

I take another bite—which is actually really good. “It’s okay. I eat out most nights too.” I shrug. “It’s not worth the dishes.”

I think of the takeout containers probably growing mold in my refrigerator. “Piper hated eating out. She thought the portion sizes were too big.”

Astor throws his head back and belts out this deep belly laugh. “She was so full of shit. You’ve never seen her at the taco bar. The woman ate until she was sick.” He folds over his knees and shakes his head. “She was a beast with chimichangas.”

The way he talks candidly and lovingly about Piper has me smiling. “You didn’t see her with those little peanut butter Easter eggs. I swear she only bought them for me, so she could eat them.”

Astor lifts his eyes to mine. “You don’t like peanut butter?”

His eyes feel magnetic as they pull the explanation from me. “I like peanut butter fine, just not eight pounds of it.”

His freaking smile…

This is how Piper caved to his advances.

“Did you love my sister?” The question explodes out of me, and I almost take it back when I see his face fall into something that resembles pain.

He pulls in a breath, his gaze going to the ceiling before answering. “I will always love your sister for many reasons, but not the one I think you’re asking.”

---