Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Eden
Foster is paying me—well, the agency—for nothing. I come to his place three times a week, but he’s neat and cleans up after himself. I don’t need three eight-hour days here. I guess maybe he’s messier when the season is in full swing? I’m not sure, but I find myself with extra time on my hands.
That’s why I’m in his kitchen making him dinner.
He tells me I don’t have to, but the man has been making me breakfast three times a week since my first full week here.
It’s the least that I can do. He’s at the gym with the guys—his words, not mine—and well, I assume a workout makes you hungry.
I wouldn’t know. I can’t think of a single time I’ve stepped into a gym to work out.
I’m lucky that I’ve got a good metabolism. I’m sure one day that won’t be the case, but I’m taking full advantage of it while I can.
I’m pulling the meatloaf out of the oven, just as the door from the garage opens. I hear his heavy footfalls as he makes his way to the kitchen.
“Wow, what’s all this?” Foster asks.
I place the meatloaf on the stove and turn to face him. He’s wearing sweats and a hoodie, his hair is mussed, and his lips are tilted into a smile for me.
“I made dinner,” I tell him. “I thought you might be hungry.” I glance over at the clock on the wall.
“I know four might be a little early to eat, but everything can be heated up later. I don’t know if you’re hungry after a workout, but I assumed that you would be, so yeah.
” I sigh, my shoulders dropping. I’m rambling, and it’s embarrassing.
“Four is not too early, and I’m starving. Have a seat, and I’ll make us a plate,” he says, stepping toward the cabinet.
“Oh, I made this for you.”
“And this is a lot of food for one person. You’re staying to eat with me.” He gives me a look that tells me not to argue with him, so I don’t.
“I guess that means I’ll at least be here to clean up after,” I tell him. It’s not a hardship to stay. Spending time with this man, being in his orbit in any capacity, has quickly become the best part of my days.
“No, ma’am. You cooked. I’ll clean up. Now, sit.” He nods toward the stools at the massive island in his kitchen, and I do as I’m told, perching my ass onto one of them.
“This smells great, Eden. Thank you,” Foster says, placing a plate in front of me and one next to me for himself. “What do you want to drink?”
“Oh, uh, water is fine.”
He grabs two bottles of water from the fridge and takes his seat.
He wastes no time, cutting into his piece of meatloaf and forking up a bite.
“Damn,” he mutters, placing his hand over his mouth as he chews.
“If I had known that everything you cook was this good, I’d be begging for you to cook for me every night. ” He winks.
If he only knew what that wink of his does to me. It turns my belly into knots and has my heart fluttering, as if it has wings inside my chest.
“I cooked a lot growing up. That was one of my chores at most of my foster families. They found out I could cook, and I had to earn my keep. Never mind that they got money monthly for housing me. By the time I made it to the Harpers, it was kind of my thing, and we all cooked together.”
“Do you still talk to them? The Harpers?” he asks.
“Occasionally. I send them birthday and Christmas cards, and they do the same for me. They weren’t affectionate people, and I craved affection.
I thought if I cooked for them, that would earn me a hug or a smile, but both were few and far between.
I think that’s why I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I was safe, warm, and fed, but I still missed the closeness. ” I shrug.
“Yeah, affection isn’t something that’s handed out. Not the good kind of affection. I can still remember the first time Mrs. Pruitt, Hope, hugged me. It was the day I moved in with them, and I stood there frozen, not sure what to do.”
“It’s hard to trust good intentions when all you’ve ever been on the receiving end of are bad ones,” I agree.
It’s comforting and overwhelming all at the same time—how similar we are, from our backgrounds to how we see life.
Really, it’s only our careers that separate us, which sounds weird, since that’s exactly what brought us together.
He nods. “By the time I went off to college, I was accustomed to her hugs. She gave them freely, like I imagine a mother would.”
“Do they have kids? Mr. and Mrs. Pruitt?” I ask.
“No. They were never able to have children of their own. I don’t know why they didn’t adopt or foster a smaller child, or a baby even. Instead, they took me.”
I think about what he said while I swallow my bite of meatloaf. “Maybe they were waiting for you. I can only assume that the situation and the child needed to feel right. Fit their family, and you were their choice, Foster.”
His brows furrow slightly, as if he’s deep in thought. “I guess I never thought about it like that.”
“It took me a while to turn my thinking around, too. The Harpers were new foster parents. I was their first and their last. They, too, were unable to have children of their own. They might not have passed out hugs freely, but they did choose me.”
“Do you ever wish you had reached out more?” he asks.
“Sometimes. More here recently. What about you?”
“Yeah, but then I tell myself too much time has passed, and I talk myself out of it.”
“It’s never too late, Foster. They’re a part of your life, and from what you’ve told me, they would be an even bigger part if you would let them. They chose you. It wasn’t pity or to make them feel better about themselves. You were who they wanted.”
He’s quiet as he finishes off the rest of his dinner. Foster likes to process things, and it’s obvious he overthinks them, at least when it comes to anything connected to his past.
“Violet.”
That’s it. One name, and he clamps his mouth shut.
“Who’s Violet?” I ask, keeping my voice soft.
“We met in college. She was there the day I got drafted. We’d talked about the future, and where it was going, and what my being drafted meant.
I asked her to marry me that day, and she said no.
She wanted to go to medical school, which I knew, but she didn’t want to do long distance, and she didn’t want to be in the limelight that this career came with. ”
“I’m sorry. That must have hurt.”
“Old rejections and insecurities. I didn’t fight for her. I was angry that she changed the plan, and I just… let her walk away. She left my house that night, and I never saw her again after that.”
I can hear the pain in his voice. If I could take it for him, I would. “Where is she now?”
“She’s a doctor.” He smiles sadly. “The last I heard, she was dating another doctor. I stopped checking up on her after that. I lost my chance to be in her life, to care about her, when I didn’t fight for us.”
I can’t help it. Reaching over, I place my hand over his. “Foster, she didn’t fight either. There are two people in a relationship, and the fallout is not all on you.”
“It is. I could have given it all up for her. I could have followed her to medical school.”
“That’s not fair to either of you, and you would have ended up resenting that she got to live her dream, and you didn’t.”
“I loved her.”
“Sometimes, love isn’t enough.”
He turns those dark brown eyes my way. “You ever been in love, Eden?”
I shake my head, swallowing hard. “I never let anyone get close enough. I never got close enough to fall in love. It’s hard for me to trust people, and yeah, that hinders the whole love thing, as well.”
“Do you trust me?” he asks, leaning in close.
I hold his stare. “I think I do.” I swallow hard as I keep my eyes locked on his.
“I don’t trust easily either. The guys, they’ve earned my trust, but still, you’re the first person, other than my ex, that I’ve opened up to about my life growing up.
I don’t know if it’s because I know our backgrounds are so similar, or if there’s something in my soul that recognizes yours, but I trust you.
” He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“I hope one day, you’ll trust me, too,” he whispers.
He leans in a little closer, and I lick my lips because I may not have much experience with love or dating, but I know when a man is thinking about kissing me.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I do trust him, but something holds me back.
I start to lean into him just as my cell phone rings, jolting me.
Foster slowly settles back into his chair, his eyes still locked with mine.
I break the spell as I look down at the island and my phone.
No one ever calls me but work and my best friend, Carrie, and it’s her name that’s flashing at me on the screen.
I stare at the phone as if it offended me, which is why I don’t see him lean close.
His lips brush against my temple. “Answer it,” he says, grabbing our empty plates and standing, moving toward the sink.
Exhaling a heavy breath, I pick up my phone, noticing a slight tremble in my hands, swipe at the screen, and place it next to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hey, you,” Carrie’s cheerful voice greets me. “What are you doing for dinner? I thought you could come and eat with us. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”
“Like two weeks.” I chuckle. I don’t know what I did in life to have Carrie be a part of my journey, but I’m forever grateful. “I actually already had dinner.”
“Boo,” she says. “Fine, dessert then. Nick and the girls made double-chocolate cupcakes.”
“That sounds too good to pass up,” I tell her, my eyes on Foster’s back as he loads the dishwasher.
“So, we’ll see you soon?”
“I’ll be there. Give me an hour or so.” I don’t want to rush out of here, not after whatever that moment was that just passed between us.
“Sounds good. Be safe. Love you.”