Page 76 of Falling Offsides

“And they deliver them to your door?”

His face flushes a beautiful shade of bronzed pink that makes my thumbs itch to stroke over his sharp cheekbones.

“They sort of do it for me because the owner is Bajan and I gave his grandkid a few one-on-one lessons.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Oscar didn’t think so when I told he might be better as a goalie.”

“Oh no, you terrible dream crusher, you…”

Auguste chuckles at my remark, turning back to the stove.

“Food is ready,” he declares before he grabs a couple of bowls and starts piling rice into them followed by a ladle full of curry and some green beans. “My mom serves everything with green beans.”

“I never used to eat them as a child. My mom always—” My heart thuds awkwardly at the mention of her. It takes me a moment to shake off the sudden wrench in my chest. “My mom always overcooks them.”

“Same,” he chuckles, looking over his shoulder as he makes himself a bowl too. “I think it’s the one thing my mom can’t cook. But my granny, she always sautés them with garlic and ginger… it’s how I like them. I prefer them to broccoli.”

We eat at the breakfast bar, me sitting on one of the stools and him standing opposite me. The food is perfect—the kind of meal that wraps you up from the inside.

I finish without realizing. “That… that was the best thing I’ve had in a while.”

A quiet smile pulls at his lips as he swallows a forkful of his dinner. “Good.”

“You know, you shouldn’t eat standing up. It’s bad for you.”

The content smile on his face shifts along with the easy energy rolling off him. I’m not sure what I’ve said or done, but he goes silent and still. Staring past me with a frown creasing the space between his brows.

“It’s how I always eat.” I watch the way he forks through the food in his bowl, wondering why when he adds, “I hate sitting at the dinner table alone.”

Oh.My heart lurches at the emotional twist of his lips.

Before I can think better of it, I grab his bowl and set it next to mine. Patting the stool next to me as I tell him, “You’re not eating alone right now.”

“You’re finished,” Auguste says with a sigh even though he rounds the kitchen island to come perch on the seat beside me.

“I eat fast.”

“That’s bad for you too.” His voice is soft, a little choked.

The sound undos something in me that I can’t contain again.

“Dinner wasn’t something I looked forward to as a child. Still don’t, actually.”

Auguste swivels his stool to face me, when I look at him, he asks, “Why?”

“Normally, I like eating alone.”

“Why?” When I shrug, he presses, “Tell me, Princess.”

While I debate the pros and cons, if I should or shouldn’t tell him, I try to bolster my frayed emotions with a deep breath.

“You can tell me anything, Court. You can trust me.”

I have every intention of getting up and cleaning up, avoiding the conversation I’ve allowed myself to fall into. Except, he turns my stool to face him and his eyes… his eyes bore right through me. Seeing. Daring.

“Eating alone is peaceful. I don’t have to worry about chewing too loud?—”