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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 somethingto 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.