Page 8 of Tear Me to Pieces
Opening the door, I peruse the lackluster contents lining the shelves. I’ve got an excellent supply of pickles, including carrots and cauliflower. At least eight different types of dipping sauce. And Russian dressing—the superior way to top a salad.
But that’s it.
So I’ll be ordering food. Again.
I’ve got the delivery app open on my phone and I’m headed for the stairs when someone knocks at my front door. My stomach growls on the off chance it could be Felicity bringing me leftovers.
When I open the door, thereissomeone with an offering of food, but it’s not Felicity.
Simon offers a grin that makes my knees weak. “You said something about buying my way into a house tour with food.” He lifts one of the plates loaded with spaghetti and garlic bread balanced on his upturned palms, the savory rich scent of it making my mouth water. “I came to collect on that offer.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My eyes fall to the delicious looking—and smelling—plate of food he’s holding. I know men can cook. Christian cooks for Lydia all the time. Tate does the same for Piper. Heck, Levi feeds almost the whole neighborhood weekly. But a man has never cooked just forme.
And it’s a little shocking how impactful the gesture is.
“You made me dinner? All by yourself?” I squeeze my eyes shut, wincing at the belittling words. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
Simon chuckles, the sound low and rumbling. “I know how you meant it.”
I open my eyes to find him studying me, expression thoughtful.
“You haven’t exactly seen the best the males of our species have to offer.” He lifts the plate higher, as if it wasn’t already tempting enough. “Maybe this can change that just a little.”
I’m not sure that’s possible, but I do know I’m about to inhale that plate full of spaghetti he’s holding out.
“In that case, entry granted.” I step back, watching him pass me before closing the door, sealing Simon into my space.
“I thought you were exaggerating.” He does a slow spin in the middle of my gutted entryway. “But you weren’t, were you?”
“I was not.” I grab one of the plates and pick up the fork stabbed into the pasta. “Hopefully you cook better than I remodel houses.” Twirling up a mouthful, I shovel it in, eyes rolling back as the flavor of rich, meaty sauce explodes on my tongue.
“I wish I could take credit for that sound you just made, but this is one of Levi’s recipes. I just duplicated it.” Simon looks around. “Where do you want to sit?”
I cringe. “The floor?”
An odd expression passes over Simon’s handsome features, but it’s gone so fast I can’t accurately identify it. He almost seemed upset. But I warned him, so if he’s disappointed in my lack of furniture, that’s on him.
“In that case, why don’t we go back to my place?” He flashes me an easy smile, all signs of his earlier weird emotion gone. “It’s nothing fancy, but I do have couches.”
That has my brows rising. “Couches? Plural?”
“Couches plural.” Simon opens my front door, holding it for me before following me out onto the porch. When we reach the sidewalk, I scan the neighborhood. “And where is this magical, multiple couch containing camper you possess?”
Simon tips his head toward the vacant building across the street. “Not far.” He steps off the curb, watching as I do the same. “We’re practically neighbors.”
“I think this proximity might qualify as actual, not practical.” I follow down the broken driveway and, sure enough, there’s his camper, parked right behind the dilapidated building.
Simon goes to the large side door, bracing a foot on the steps to open it before dropping back to the ground and holding it wide. “Ladies first.”
Again, I’m caught off guard by how much Simon’s action affects me. I’ve spent the majority of my life being treated like men were above me. That I was less. Less important. Less intelligent. Less capable. Never did I come first.
And in at least one way, I never came at all.
My smile is barely there as I pass him, carefully climbing the metal steps up into the fifth wheel as my brain swirls with the jarring emotions Simon always brings on. He’s affected me from the beginning. And I let it happen because he was safe. I could adore him secretly from afar because he was always gone. There was no fear he’d ever find out, and no fear he’d reciprocate and ask for something I couldn’t give.
Now I’m thinking I should have nipped that in the bud because I’m for sure going to embarrass myself—likely by staring a little too hard or drooling down my face—before the night’s over.
Once I’m inside, my feet slow. The space is way darker than I expected and I can’t see where I’m going. “Umm…”
