Page 21 of Dove
“You okay?” he asked, concerned. His eyes roamed over my face until his gaze focused on the cheek I’d smacked against his chest. The hand he’d touched me with seconds before lifted in an aborted movement before falling back to his side.
The faint smell of sweat and his distinct, masculine bodywash lingered in my nose, as if clinging to me from the contact, making it hard for me to answer him. I simply nodded at his question, my hand rubbing along the patch of skin on my arm where it tingled, his phantom touch remaining.
Josh shifted awkwardly on his feet, clad in faded blue jeans and a ragged shirt sporting the mascot from our old high school. Another borrowed item from years past, gauging by the tightness of the fabric stretched across his chest. It certainly hadn’t fit him like that when he’d been a teenager.
I licked at my suddenly dry lips and forced myself to focus on what occupied his other hand—a plate of food.
He’d brought me lunch. Again.
“You didn’t come in to eat,” Josh spoke in the silence between us, his voice slightly accusing. Theagainhung unspoken at the end of his sentence.
Yeah, I’d lost track of timeagain. I was notorious for that, and since Josh left, it’d only gotten worse. I rarely had a schedule. Before the day began, I’d make a loose list of what needed to get done during the day, but breaks weren’t usually factored in, for no other reason other than I just got swept up in the endless work around the farm. It was easy to get consumed by everything that needed to be done, what with Josh’s absence, and Gareth focusing on my mom’s health in the last year.Someonehad to prioritize the farm. If that meant I sacrificed a lunch or two—or most of them—well, with the extra padding around my thighs, hips, and waist, I wasn’t in danger of starving to death anytime soon.
“So, I brought it to you,” he prompted when I didn’t say anything, or reach for it.
He held out his offering, the plate filled with what looked like an egg salad sandwich and cut up apple slices. The green skin hinted at it being a Granny Smith, my favorite. A little too sweet for some people’s taste, but I loved them. My heart gave a little flutter in my chest that he remembered.
As if the presence of food had summoned it, my stomach grumbled audibly between us. I glared down at it.
Traitor.
Josh’s husky laughter had my empty stomach somersaulting. If my hand shook slightly as I reached out to grab the plate, I blamed it on low blood sugar.
Brushing a few sweaty strands of hair that had escaped my ponytail out of my face, I dipped my chin and murmured, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, little dove.”
The rumble of his smooth voice and the nickname along with it had me glancing down, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush spreading across my cheeks that had nothing to do with the sun beating down on us.
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped reflexively, but it lacked heat. Secretly, I loved it. The only other person to use that term of endearment had been my dad, but for some reason, I’d never minded that Josh had taken up the use of the nickname. It made me feel happy and safe when he used it, just like how I remembered feeling with my dad.
It just didn’t feel right to hear Josh call me that now. Not when the feeling didn’t line up with reality. That safe, happy bubble I’d been in had been popped, the use of that nickname vanishing right along with it.
The skin of the apple crunched under my teeth as I took a fierce bite, pushing those thoughts out of my head. I was enough of an emotional wreck this week, the last thing I needed to be doing was reminiscing about my dad. It would only leave me melancholy and nostalgic.
My hopes that accepting the plate of food would cause Josh to scram were squashed when he remained in front of me, as if waiting to see me take a bite of the sandwich with his own two eyes before he’d leave. I wanted to roll my own at his overbearingness. Although I often forgot to break for lunch, I wasn’t in the game ofrefusingto eat good food.
Flavor burst on my tongue the moment I bit into it. Despite being a simple enough sandwich, I couldn’t help as my eyes slipped shut and a little appreciative groan left me, like it was the best fucking thing I’d tasted all day. Because it was. Actually, it was theonlything I’d tasted all day. Besides coffee, that is. I’d skipped breakfast this morning, because Josh had been lingering in the kitchen with an apprehensive look in his eyes I recognized as his tell for wanting to talk. I’d booked it out of there so fast after pouring my coffee that I’d neglected to tie my boots, only realizing it when I nearly tripped down the porch steps—and managing to catch myself before faceplanting in the gravel.
I’d also forgot to put creamer in my coffee and forced myself to choke it down black because I refused to go back into the kitchen where Josh was lurking.
A throat cleared awkwardly, and my eyes flew back open as I remembered where I was—andwhoI was in front of. I flushed, my cheeks no doubt turning an unflattering shade of pink, but I hid it behind another bite of delicious sandwich.
Good food just had that kind of power, you know? I might have been busy on the farm, but that meant I burned a lot of calories. This girl couldeat. There were plenty of times over the years I’d out-eaten local boys at food competitions in town.
“How’d you learn to cook so good?” I accused, taking another famished bite.
“I’d hardly call that cooking,” he dismissed, but his gaze flitted away guiltily, and he shrugged. “But I guess it happens when you gotta fend for yourself. I didn’t have homemade meals to rely on.”
Meaning he missed my mom’s meals. The food in my mouth turned to ash, reminding me that the small truce that had grown between us while he was back was tentative at best. His absenceloomed over both of us like a dark raincloud, one that looked seconds away from pouring.
“Right,” I agreed icily. “I would imagine there are drawbacks to just up and leaving your family.”
I schooled my face into something cold and indifferent. The sandwich slipped from my fingers and dropped back down onto the plate. “I’m full.” I shoved the plate of half-eaten food back at him. “Thanks for lunch.”
Josh was forced to grab it as I breezed past him, bristling with anger.
“Dove,” his voice was a desperate plea. “Can we please just talk?”
