Katrina released the breath she was holding and fanned herself. She needed a distraction from those sweats. “What’s your favorite food?”
“What?”
“Your favorite food. Like if you could have anything in the world for breakfast tomorrow, what would it be?”
He pulled out his floss. His biceps flexed when he lifted it to his mouth. Who knew good dental hygiene could be such a turn-on? “I like everything you make.”
“But what’s your favorite?” she insisted.
He finished flossing, and came out of the bathroom. “I don’t have a favorite.”
“Everybody has a favorite dish. What’s the breakfast you used to eat the most as a kid, the one that makes you feel all warm and squishy inside when you think about it?”
“I was never actually much of a breakfast eater.”
She stared at him. “You eat it every day when I make it for you.”
“Because you make it for me.”
Holy shit. “So let me get this straight: you don’t even like breakfast, but for the last nine years, you’ve eaten whatever I make for you, every morning, instead of just telling me you don’t care for the meal?”
Jas leaned against the armchair facing the bed. “I appreciate you cooking it, and it is an important meal. I’m happy to eat it.”
She gave a half laugh. “Are you kidding me?”
“I don’t see what the problem is.”
“The problem—” she cut herself off when he rubbed the back of his neck. A rare show of exhaustion on his part.
Another shot of guilt. She should drop this. It wasn’t that important, right?
Except as a symptom of a deeper problem. This should be an easy question, one she didn’t have to badger him into answering. “Name one dish you actually like.”
He was silent for a moment. “I like your waffles.”
“The sourdough waffles?” She perked up. “Those are my favorites, too.”
“I know. You’re happiest when you can use that starter.”
Her smile faded. He liked the waffles, at least partially, because she enjoyed making them. It was sweet and selfless, and still he was holding himself away from her.
“Is something wrong?” He rolled his shoulders, and she shook her head, burying her misgivings. It sounded so foolish to complain that he was too nice, yes?
“No.” She scooted over on the bed. “Do you want to come sit here?”
His quickness in complying eased her worries a little.
They sat side by side for a couple moments. His hand slid over her thigh and squeezed, sending tingles of happiness through her body. “Thank you for being there tonight. I’m sorry you had to see this family drama.”
“Oh no.” Never let him think she didn’t appreciate learning stuff about him. “I’m glad I could be there. It would have been a shame for you all to have an irreparable rift between you. Grandparents like that don’t fall from trees.”
He shot her a sideways glance. “Do you know your grandparents?”
“Not on my dad’s side. My mom was born in America, but her parents returned to Thailand when she was in college. I met them twice, but I was too young to remember it. After she died, my dad blocked them from contacting me.” Her smile was bittersweet, the same mix of anger and aching tenderness she’d felt when she’d found out what her dad had done. “I found letters my grandmother had sent me. Birthday cards with money still tucked in them. By the time I realized they had tried to see me, it was too late, they were already gone. If I’d had the courage to buck my dad a few years earlier . . .” She trailed off, her inner-therapist-trained counterthinking kicking in. “Well. What’s done is done.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I considered seeing if I could track down any extended family members, but . . . I don’t know.”
“You should.”
She lifted her shoulder. She’d been raised by a father who had seen her as his meal ticket, a pretty object to be photographed and used for financial gain and tossed when she was no longer useful. Her abandonment issues were severe. What were the guarantees that this family that didn’t even know her would even like her?
She had made a family. Rhi, Jia. Everyone who worked for her. Jas.
She inhaled deeply, pulling air into her lungs to calm the prickle of tears at her eyes. She could always use more, though. “I’ll think about it.”
He nodded. “You do that.”
How had they gotten back to her so easily? It was a habit, she supposed, him looking after her. “Can we talk about dinner? About . . .”
Your PTSD.
This testimony everyone was talking about.
Your relationship with your family members.
“I’m really exhausted. Can we not, tonight?”
Her nod was automatic. “Yes. Of course.”
He leaned in close to press a kiss on her cheek. “Do you want to sleep together? I’m too tired to do more, but I’d like to sleep.”
“Absolutely.”
He turned the light off, plunging the room into darkness. They got under the covers, and she moved onto her side, in her usual sleeping position. He curved around her, spooning her.
She tried to shake the sense of something being wrong, but her eyes popped open as a thought occurred to her. “Hey, is this your side of the bed?”
“I can sleep anywhere. I don’t have a side.”
That sounded like absurd talk to Katrina, but she supposed there were some humans in the world who didn’t care what side of the bed they slept on. She craned her neck to look at him. “Are you okay with this position? Do you usually sleep on your side?”
“Are you okay with it?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m okay with it.” He tugged her close. “I’m tired, Katrina.”
The rebuke was as gentle as it could be, but she got the hint. “Okay, right. Good night.”
“Night.” In a matter of seconds, his breathing deepened and grew heavy.
She stared out into the darkness of the night, stroking her hand over his. In the history of the world, had any woman ever complained about having a partner who was too selfless?
Probably not. Despite that lingering sense of anxiety, she closed her eyes and did what she’d learned to do so well. She fell asleep with her breath matched to his, the heat of his body seeping into hers.
Chapter Twenty-Four
THERE WAS SO much noise, and the sharp taste of sweat and metallic fear in his mouth. He wanted to leave, but he was pinned, cursed to witness the same horrific sequence of events again and again.
Hands on his chest held him down. He had to get away.
He lashed out, kicking and swatting, and it was only when he heard a grunt that his eyes flew open.
He expected to see McGuire’s deceptively boyish round face over his, but that wasn’t the case. Katrina was on her knees next to him, eyes wide.
The bed. The room. He was in the little house, and Katrina was with him.
“Oh God.” Jas sat up and grasped her hands. They were cold in his, which didn’t bode well. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No, not at all. I shouldn’t have tried to shake you awake. Are you okay?”