Page 61 of Broken Trails
“About being a father to them. You’re the best thing that ever happened to us.” I don’t turn around, but the weight of it follows me, pressing heavy in my chest in the best kind of way.
I head for the food table. It’s already been raided, but there’s still enough to stack a plate high—sausages, charred corn, a heap of Imogen’s pasta salad, Isla’s roast potatoes, and even a scoop of slaw I don’t like. It’s more than I need.
But it’s not just for me.
Back by the fire, I watch the girls before I reach them. Olivia is chatting Zoe’s ear off, and Amelia nods along. When I step up, both of them turn toward me with matching grins.
I give a quick nod. “Liv. Amelia.”
Zoe glances up when I stop beside her, surprise flickering across her face before that familiar guarded look settles back in. I shift my weight, feeling like a bit of an idiot standing here with a plate loaded high. “Imogen rope you into this tonight?”
Her eyes narrow, like I’ve just called her bluff. “She showed up at my door like I didn’t have a choice. Said something about fresh air, good people, and how it’d keep me from stewing in my own head.”
I huff out a laugh. Classic Imogen—stubborn to the bone but with her heart exactly where it should be. And for once, I’m glad she meddled. “Sounds about right.”
Zoe tilts her head. “She also said you’d be here.”
A smirk pulls at my mouth. “Ah, so that’s the real reason you came?”
She scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself, Hotshot. I was forced, remember?”
“Mhm.” I nudge the toe of my boot into the dirt. “Just admit you like my company.”
She doesn’t answer, just takes a slow sip from her thermos, gaze fixed anywhere but on me.
That wasn’t exactly a no. So I’ll take it. Before I can push further, Olivia clears her throat, and it hits me—I’d completely forgotten the girls were still sitting here.
Olivia gets to her feet. “I should head off. I promised I’d help Isla with the dessert setup.”
Amelia shoots us both a smile. “And I should go find Callie. I think she wandered off with one of Taco’s chew toys again.”
And just like that, they disappear without another word.
Zoe arches a brow at me. “Well… that was subtle.”
I exhale hard, settling into the empty chair beside her. The firelight flickers across her face, casting shadows that dance beneath her long lashes. “I, uh, brought you some food.”
Her gaze drops to the plate I’m balancing on one knee. Her brows rise at the sheer volume. “Uh, I’m good.”
“I just grabbed whatever I saw. I know Imogen’ll rip me a new one if you came here and didn’t try her pasta salad.” The plate stays in my hand, and her stare doesn’t waver, so I continue. “Xavier’s grill game is solid. Isla’s potatoes are worth sinning for. You can’t leave here without at least one bite.”
For a moment, she doesn’t make a move. But her eyes flick up to mine again, and then to my surprise, she reaches out and takes the damn plate. “I’m not going to finish all this.”
She says it like a warning. Like it means something more.
And maybe it does.
Maybe I’m reading too far into things—God knows I’ve got a bad habit of that—but there’s something about the way she says it that gnaws at me. Like she’s had to defend her appetite before. Like someone made her feel small for what she did or didn’t eat. That thought crawls beneath my skin and grates hard. Makes me want to find whoever the fuck made her feel like that and teach them something real fucking fierce.
“Just eat what you can. I’ll finish the rest.”
She mutters something I don’t catch, stabs a fork into one of the sausages, and takes a bite. It’s hesitant at first. But then she takes another. And another one. Good. At least she’s eating something.
“You stink of grease,” she mumbles around a mouthful. “And you look like you rolled straight out from under a car.”
Fair. “That’d be because I literally did.”
She hands the plate back once she’s done. As promised, I polish off the rest, then lean forward and drop it on the table beside us.
