Page 22 of You're So Vine
He points to the wall space beside the window, on which, now that his head’s out of the way, I can see a pegboard. Kitchen utensils hang from rods and pots of herbs sit on small shelves, all stuck into the holes.
“Is this place allyour design?” I have to ask, though the smell of eggs and toast is urgently reminding me how hungry I am.
“Yup, though most was less design, more trial and error.” He points his fork at my plate. “Eat.”
Don’t need to be told twice. I’d devour this table if it had enough butter on it.
I look up from shoveling food into my mouth to find Cam watching me.
“Doc Wilson said you and Nate don’t eat enough,” he says.
I cuss Doc yet again. I hate it when people know stuff about me before I’m ready to tell them. And even Doc doesn’t know the whole truth. When I was exercise riding, the hours were long, and I got in the habit of living off protein bars because I could stuff them in a pocket and eat them on the fly. Management also expected me to stay small and light to replicate the feel of the jockey as much as possible. The combination of those pressures wasn’t great, and I became seriously underweight for a time. The stables vet was the one who suggested I might want to boost my calorie intake. Said if she saw a horse that skinny, she’d sue the owner for neglect. Said no wonder I was tired all the time. So, I started making better choices around food. But the tiredness didn’t go away.
I’m not ready to tell Cam the whole truth yet. As I said, I detest being pitied. “Nate’s worse than I am,” is what I say. “And it’s not that I don’t want to eat. I just get busy and forget.”
“Have no clue how that works,” says Cam. “If I were a car, my gas gauge would be beeping at me before the tank was half empty.”
Suddenly, I spot my chance to steer the conversation away from me and my stuff.
“You know, Shelby told me early on that you didn’t talk much,” I say. “And when we first met, you didn’t. But now here you are, speaking in full sentences. What gives?”
Cam lifts his shoulders briefly, won’t meet my eye. “Small talk’s not my thing.”
“Unsatisfactory answer, Hollander.”
Seems I can eat my eggsandinterrogate.
Cam pauses, which is usual. But then he comes out with another full sentence that freezes me in place.
“I wasn’t in good shape when I came out of the army. Physically or … mentally. I kept my distance from people. Got out of practice. Some habits are hard to break.”
Oh, God. That’s deeply personal territory, and I had no right to push him into it. Especially when all I wanted was for us to stop talking about my personal stuff.
“Sorry,” I say, and mean it. “That’s more answer than I deserved. Let’s change the subject. What would you normally be doing this morning if you didn’t have to babysit me?”
I can’t tell if he’s glad of the segue or not. It occurs to me that my own habits have robbed me of a chance to get closer to him, and I almost backtrack. But then he gives me a crooked grin.
“Not sure babysitting is the best choice of word,” he says. “Given … you know.”
He brought it up. Not me.
I give him a flirty look. “You never had fantasies about your babysitters?”
Get a steady look in return. “Only one I ever had was my sister.”
“Okay.”
I load the last of my eggs onto a square of toast and shove it in my mouth.
“That was delicious,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
“More coffee?”
“I shouldn’t,” I say. “Don’t need any more nervous energy.”
Aaand right on cue, I nose-dive into a crash. This is what it’s been like for me for months. I used to be able to go and go all day, survive on little food and less sleep, and now it’s as if my fuel tank’s getting secretly siphoned off, leaving me with nothing but fumes. For a control-freak action-bunny like me, it’s the worst punishment possible. And I’ve no idea what’s causing it.
“Ava? You okay?”
