Page 47 of The Heart Shot
A moment later the waitress came by, and I gave my order, handing her the menu.
“And for you?” she asked Elsie.
Elsie bit her lip. “Um, I’ll just do a Caesar salad.”
I arched a brow. “You don’t want anything else?”
She hesitated, scanning the menu once more. I couldn’t help but wonder if money was a concern for her, based on her comment over the cost of that pumpkin on our first date, and the way she hesitated now. Her grocery basket had been fairly empty, too, now that I thought about it.
“Just the salad for me,” she reaffirmed.
Elsie handed the waitress her menu and I quickly added, “Actually, make that two bowls of chili, please.”
The waitress nodded and disappeared before Elsie could object.
I didn’t know what came over me, or if she even liked chili, but the thought of her only eating anchovy-covered lettuce because that’s all she could afford made me sad. I knew from experience what it felt like to be hungry, and to have to settle for a mediocre meal because of money.
Besides, my mom had raised me to be a gentleman, and I wasn’t about to make Elsie pay for her own meal when we were on a…non-date.
“Why did you do that?” she demanded, leaning forward, a deep crease in her forehead as she glared at me.
I had always been a blunt person, unafraid to say what I was thinking or feeling, so I asked, “Did you only order a salad because you’re worried about the cost?”
Her brows lowered over her eyes, the tips of her ears turning red as she fixed her gaze on the table, folding her hands together.
“I don’t need you to take care of me, Jameson.”
I took her avoidance as confirmation.
“I know,” I replied. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
Her eyes snapped to mine. “Why?”
Why, indeed.
I wasn’t about to voice that I couldn’t get her out of my head, that I cared more than I should. That was a surefire way of scaring her away for good.
So, instead, I settled for, “Everyone needs to eat. Everyone deserves a solid meal.”
Elsie’s knuckles were white from how hard she squeezed her hands together. It was instinct to reach out and cover them with my own.
“Elsie, it’s fine. I was going to pay for your meal anyway.”
She slipped her hands from beneath mine, and the air was suddenly too cold, too empty without her touch.
“I can pay for my own food, Jameson.”
“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”
She shook her head. “I can take care of myself.”
“But when’s the last time someone took care of you?”
Her entire body stilled as she met my gaze, and I supposed that was answer enough.
I leaned forward, wishing the table wasn’t in my way so I could take her hands in mine. “I’m sorry that someone forced you to learn to care for yourself, but you don’t have to do that with me, Elsie.”
“You don’t even know me,” she bit out. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or flustered, unable to understand my motives.
