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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. “Iwon’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.

Chapter 19