18. Gilli #2
“There were ample opportunities to grab a snack throughout the day,” Tase reminds me.
“I had coffee.”
He frowns and goes to one of the cabinets in the break room. He grabs a granola bar and practically throws it at me. “You don’t take good care of yourself, do you?”
My mind automatically goes to my ample ass and the curves I’m unable to get rid of no matter how hard I work out or diet.
“I’ve seen the way you cook for Soren and Aiden, but you can’t be bothered to stop for a snack for yourself? Or to even ask if something can be delivered?”
No one had time for lunch today. Did he pull this concerned act with Belle? With Kayla?
“I’m used to working long hours without food. It’s fine,” I assure him. “This is nothing new. I’ll eat when I get home.”
Tase leans back with his arms crossed over his chest. “Fine. See that you do. Now go home. Take care of yourself. Otherwise Soren will have my neck in a noose.”
His abruptness is not startling but it does bother me.
“Look, I’m not sure if you understand this, but—” I step toward him and lower my voice. “—my stepbrother doesn’t give a fuck about me.”
And for some reason, I’m not ready to go back to the cabin yet.
Tase arches a single brow. The motion confirms what I suspected. Soren must have said something to him. I’m sure a lot of confidences were spilled last night, none of which I’m privy to.
“Do you feel the same way he does?” I press. “Do you want me gone too? Out of your space and out of this town?”
He scoffs. “You’re here to work and not get into my personal life. I’ll respect your boundaries if you respect mine.”
“Fair enough,” I concede, and turn away to gather my things. But I must have moved too quickly because my head spins and my stomach gives such a violent cramp my tired knees are no longer able to hold me upright.
I’m going down— But Tase is right there.
“Christ, Gilli, are you okay?”
His arms band around me and tug me up to his chest until I’m balanced on the tips of my toes. My feet leave the ground altogether when he clutches me, turning around and lifting me onto one of the counters.
My head still spins, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the swirling sensation. His hands are there on my hips to steady me. He slides them up to cup my face and tilts my head. I slowly pry my eyes back open and Tase is staring at me with equal parts concern and frustration.
“This,” he begins softly, “is why you have to make sure you eat.”
“It slipped my mind,” I reply. “We were busy.”
He shakes his head. “Not good enough.”
“It’s not up to you to yell at me for forgetting to eat.”
“Do you want to make a joke about me not being your dad?”
A laugh slips out. “Trust me, you are about as far from my dad as possible.” The thought of Bill worrying about me is laughable.
“Oh yeah?” Tase grins, the motion deepening the fan of lines around his eyes. “I’m more devilishly handsome, I imagine.”
He has no idea .
He peels the wrapper down on the granola bar and holds it out for me. “Eat.” His scowl deepens the longer I hesitate. “I can do this all day.”
“Why does it matter to you? I’m not your responsibility.”
I shift to slide off the counter but he steps forward between my legs, caging me between him and the cabinets behind me.
My breath catches.
He clucks his tongue. “You begged me to let you volunteer. You might not be my employee but you’re here, which does in fact make you my responsibility.”
He’s right. Of course he’s right. I do need to eat, but sometimes…
“Is it a disorder?” he asks.
I jerk and glare at him. “None of your business.”
“ Aha . I know when I’ve struck a chord. Do you have an eating disorder?” Repeating it doesn’t make it easier to hear.
Tase lifts the granola bar to my lips and I’m about to clamp my lips shut out of spite. But I’m torn. His concern is sweet, even if it is for professional reasons. But it feels personal with his hand on my knee and the blatant look of intent in those whiskey eyes.
When did he touch my knee?
He’s unmoving, unblinking, staring holes through me until I open my mouth to protest again. He quickly but gently glides the bar between my teeth and waits for me to take the first bite. The smell alone… I never thought I’d want to eat a granola bar so badly.
The first taste of chocolate and honey and salt has me close to swooning and I let out a groan.
Much to his satisfaction. “That’s better. Eat the whole thing,” he murmurs.
I chew thoughtfully, never breaking eye contact. “It’s not an eating disorder,” I say once I swallow. “I want to make that clear. ”
Although I shouldn’t care what he thinks about me. Or what any of them think about me.
Tase is a stranger. Someone I can respect professionally, and potentially fall for personally, but that’s not going to happen.
He’s also patient with me. Holding his tongue until I give him the answers he wants.
“Have you ever hated a part of yourself so badly it impacts everything you do?” I whisper.
“Yes.” It’s a simple answer and loaded with meaning. “Yes, I have. But nothing physical.”
“What, then?” He’s got me curious.
“My wife died of cancer. I wasn’t able to save her no matter what I did.
I failed her. I’ll carry that failure with me for the rest of my life.
” His answer is clinical. He says it like he’s reciting a story.
It might as well have happened to someone else.
Not him. “It’s not the kind of thing you’re talking about. ”
I look to his left ring finger but there’s nothing there. What did I expect? “I’m sorry about your wife. I’m so sorry.”
His pain is there, churning beneath the surface, but Tase keeps a close leash on it, on himself. “It’s in the past. We have to live with grief and learn to bear the weight. What part of you?”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“I knew someone in college with body dysmorphia. I recognize the signs. What part?”
“You’re so quick to diagnose me.” My laughter is dry and acidic.
“I might be balls-tired and nursing the dregs of a hangover, but I’m confident in what I’ve seen and heard,” he replies. “Am I wrong?”
No. I wish he was.
“My lower half,” I admit finally. “Legs, thighs, hips. Ass. Anything and everything.”
I take another bite of the bar and he watches me chew. “I won’t insult you by asking what you’ve tried. I’m sure you’ve done your research into it.”
“You’re giving me a lot of credit for a girl from the sticks. The trailer park breeds insecurities.”
A slightly guilty sheen mists over his eyes. Interesting. So he knows all about that part of my past.
“You’re a good worker and smarter than some people give you credit for.” Soren . “I also know it doesn’t matter what I say to you. Telling you not to worry is like slapping gauze on a boat leak.”
We stare at each other thoughtfully. What does Tase think about me now that he knows one of my truths? Does it make a difference?
Do I want it to?
I finish the rest of the granola bar. before Tase balls up the wrapper and tosses it into the trash. “Don’t let it go so long next time, Gilli. Please. Eat something.”
Even though Tase Walton is gruff and austere and gives hardly anything away, I sense no condemnation. Only genuine concern.
Something unspoken hovers between us. And it lights a fire inside of me.