Chapter 2 #2
“You good?” he asks.
“Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were home.”
“It’s fine, Eden,” he says, and I melt.
Why does hearing him say my name in that sexy-as-sin voice of his turn me on so much? This is bad. So bad. I have to stop this. This is my job, my livelihood. No way am I willing to do anything to jeopardize that. I need to get my shit together.
“Thank you for saving me,” I whisper. He nods, drops his hands from my waist, and I immediately miss the warmth of his touch, so I skirt around him and rush down the hall and into the kitchen.
I have two hours left, so I need to keep myself busy.
Digging through the pantry, I don’t see any of the ingredients I need to bake, so I decide to make him something for dinner.
He’s got a box of Bisquick, canned chicken, and chicken broth.
Chicken and dumplings, it is. I’m sure it’s not something he would typically eat, but it’s a comfort food for me, one that’s cheap to make, and I can eat it for several days.
Maybe this will hold him through the weekend.
A flash of him and his gorgeous, nameless, faceless lady friend rolls through my mind, but I shut it down. I don’t even know if she exists. But I’m certain that a man like Foster is not at a loss for female companionship. Female companionship that can never be me.
Such is life.
I get lost in my task. I enjoy cooking. Growing up, my foster families gave us chores, and almost every one of them gave me the task of cooking.
I didn’t mind it, and I liked seeing people enjoy my food.
I once thought that I would go to culinary school or open my own bakery, but those were just dreams of a na?ve girl.
When I turned eighteen, I had two weeks of school left before graduation.
My current foster family allowed me to stay through graduation, but then I had to go.
Luckily for me, my last family was nicer than the others.
I lived with them for two years, my junior and senior years of high school.
As long as my chores were done and my grades were good, they allowed me to babysit for the family next door, and I didn’t have to share my money with them.
I saved every penny I made. I even did some landscaping, like mulching and weeding flower beds.
Anything I could think of that would get me out of the house and put money in my old coffee tin.
The Harper family was good to me, but I was still anxious living within their walls.
Anytime I could escape them, I was all in.
I didn’t have it as bad as some. I got slapped around a few times at my first few homes I was assigned to.
Groped over my clothes by the teenage son of another.
I spent lots of nights huddled in a small twin-sized bed, listening to my foster parents scream and shout at one another.
I hated it. Every minute of it, until I moved in with the Harpers.
They were kind. They didn’t scream or yell, and no one touched me inappropriately, but they were also cold.
I would have given anything for a warm hug, but that’s not who they were.
Regardless, I’ll be forever grateful to them for saving me from all the others.
“Something smells good,” Foster says, walking into the kitchen.
Thankfully, he’s fully clothed. “Chicken and dumplings. The cheater’s version.”
“What exactly is the cheater’s version?” he asks, stepping close and leaning over my shoulder to peer into the pot on the stove.
“I used canned chicken, instead of boiling and shredding it myself, and for the dumplings, I used biscuit mix instead of making them from scratch.”
“I had all that here?” He raises a brow.
“You did.” I smile. “This should feed you for a couple of days. If you tell me things you like to eat, I can make a grocery order and prepare those for you.”
“I’m not a picky eater.” Something flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can define it.
“I’m not either. I grew up in foster care. It was an ‘eat what I put in front of you’ kind of situation, at least until the last two years.”
“Foster care?” he asks, and I can hear the skepticism in his voice.
“Yeah, my mom was an addict. She passed when I was three, and we had no other family, at least not that they could find. So, I grew up in the system. I don’t remember her.
” I clamp my mouth shut. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually talk about my past, especially not with someone I work for.
My apologies,” I say, looking down at my feet.
I can’t believe I just word vomited all of that.
It has to be because I’ve spent a lot of today thinking about how I grew up.
I’m usually not this open because when people find out you grew up without a family, they look at you differently.
Some look at you with pity, and others with uncertainty, like you’re different from them, and they don’t know how to handle that.
I hate both, so I don’t usually tell my story.
There’s something about Foster that has me acting out of character.
Whatever it is, I need to be more careful and lock it down.
It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s now worried that the poor little foster girl might rob him blind.
I’ll probably get a call from Jasmine, my boss, telling me he’s requested my transfer.
So fucking stupid, Eden.
“Growing up in foster care isn’t a reason for an apology.” His voice is quiet. “I can empathize with your struggles.”
“Don’t.” My shoulders stiffen. “Don’t play the nice guy because you pity me.
I survived it, and I’m doing well for myself.
I might not live in a million-dollar condo in downtown Nashville, but I’m taking care of myself.
I have a warm, safe bed, food in the fridge, and a car that doesn’t break down every other day.
I made it when so many like me get caught in a vicious cycle of the system and the homes they’re sequestered to.
So, don’t.” My voice is stern as I hold his stare.
I don’t know what I expect, but it’s not for Foster to stalk toward me. He stops when we’re toe to toe, and I have to tilt my head back to look at him. His dark brown eyes penetrate me.
“I don’t pity you, Eden. I was you.”
My mouth falls open in shock, and I have no words. What does he mean? Did he grow up in the system, too? Before I can find my voice, he takes a step back.
“See yourself out. Have a good weekend, Eden,” he says, before turning on his heel and stalking down the hall toward his office.
“Shit,” I mutter. My heart is racing, and my hands are trembling. This day derailed, and this is not at all how I expected it to turn out. If I wasn’t sure before, I am now. He’s on the phone, calling Jasmine. I let my emotions get the better of me, and that could cost me my livelihood.
Turning off the burner on the stove, I place the lid on the pot, change into my outdoor shoes, and slip out the door. I should call Jasmine and explain, but I’ll wait for her call to tell me that even though I’ve been with the company for seven years and have a perfect record, I’m done.
Way to go, Eden. You just messed up a good thing.
The drive home is quiet. I don’t turn on the radio, not that I could hear it over my thoughts. I trudge up to my apartment, kick off my shoes, and land face-first on the couch. I expect that call to come in any minute, and then I’ll get myself together and look for another position.
This isn’t the first curveball life has tossed my way, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. I’ll figure it out on my own, just like I always do.