Page 38 of Into These Eyes

“Mum taught me. Once she found out she was sick, it became her mission to make sure I could fend for myself, especially since my father was useless in the kitchen. Those nights with her, following her instructions, all the little tricks she showed me, the conversations we had … they’re some of my fondest memories.

Being able to do that again … well …” he trails off, extra moisture shining in his eyes.

“Another thing you went so long without.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice a little strained.

Resting my hand on his forearm, I brush my thumb over his skin. “I’m sorry.”

He stares at his plate and simply nods. But I catch the solid bob of his Adam’s apple and feel the tightening of his muscles beneath my palm. Which reminds me I’m still touching him. Again.

Removing my hand, I concentrate on eating. He finishes quickly, and by the time I’m a little more than halfway through mine, I discover the rich ingredients have me full to bursting. Remembering how he devoured my leftover hamburger, I slide my plate over to him.

He quirks an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Definitely.” I pat my stomach. “Another bite and I might explode.”

“I’d love to cook every night, to contribute to the accommodation upgrade.”

Suddenly, I recall what I’d said to him earlier. I’d told him that unless an amazing man turned up on my doorstep, I didn’t have time for a relationship. And tonight, a man turned up on my doorstep. And he wants to cook. Every night. If that’s not an amazing man, I don’t know what is.

Okay. I need to get a grip.

“I’d love that,” I say, “but only do it because you want to. You don’t owe me anything, Gavin.”

Pushing the now empty plate aside, he fixes his eyes on mine, his expression serious. “Obviously, I don’t know what it’s like for a woman, but for a man—at least, the way I was raised—I need to contribute. But I can’t even get a fucking job.”

Confused, I tilt my head. Why hadn’t it occurred to me before now that this new situation might interfere with his job? In fact, why hadn’t he mentioned it when giving me the reasons he couldn’t stay here? “I thought you had a job.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and, as he does, I notice his hand fisting on his thigh.

“Gavin?”

Staring at his empty plate, he nods. “Yeah, I did. I lost it recently.”

Suddenly closed off, he won’t look at me. I can’t imagine him losing a job through incompetence. With what I know about him, I’m sure he’d be the best employee anyone could want.

“How did that happen?” I ask.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters a little too quickly.

“That sounds an awful lot like my answer when I didn’t want to tell you about the note under my door. What was it you said? That friends don’t hide things from each other?”

Without looking at me, he sighs heavily. “I unintentionally took the day off. And completely forgot to call it in. They don’t give people like me a second chance.”

Unintentionally took a day off? “Was this the day we went to see Liam?”

“No. It was about a week ago.”

As the pieces fit together, I stare at him in horror. About a week ago he’d been here, looking after me. And he hadn’t left until around midday. My drunken, irresponsible behaviour resulted in his unintentional day off.

I’m the reason he lost his job. Guilt and humiliation crash through me. I’m supposed to be making his life better. Instead, I’ve made it harder.

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shakes his head. “I knew you’d feel responsible. And you’re not. It was my decision to stay with you, not yours.”

Damn this man. I’m making this up to him whether he likes it or not. I close my fingers over the fist resting on his thigh. I really need to have a serious conversation with my hands. They seem to believe he’s the magnetic north pole to my south.

“Gavin, I can fix that for you right away. Because now you do have a job. I’ve just hired you as my bodyguard.”

Finally, he meets my eyes. “Can’t tell my Corrections officer that. Not an occupation I’m allowed to enter into.”

He’s right. He can’t have a job that involves the possibility of violence. That’d break his parole conditions.

“Oh, I know! You can be my personal assistant. It’s totally normal for a professional to have one these days. I’ll pay you a wage, of course.”

He shakes his head adamantly. “No fucking way.”

“Yes, fucking way. If employment is one of your parole conditions, that means you need to prove you’re earning an income, right?”

I know he hates the idea, but the moment he realises it’s the only way this will work, his shoulders slump in defeat, and my heart breaks a little.

“Having you do all the things I don’t have time for … well, I don’t think you understand how much of burden you’ll be lifting from my shoulders. That’s quite a gift.”

“People don’t pay for their own gifts.”

Stubborn man. “True, but it will be a gift when you pay me back. And I expect you to.” I give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “No matter how long it takes.”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Paying me doesn’t make me feel like I’m contributing. It seems more like taking advantage. And that makes me feel … less than.”

“You are contributing. Just by being here. Do you know how it felt to not want to come home? To be afraid of the one place I should feel safe? It’s …

” Opening up like this goes against my nature, but if he can do it, so can I.

“It’s unsettling. To know that, in a heartbeat, your sanctuary can be snatched away.

And now that you’re here … you’ve given me back my home.

To me, that’s something that’s more than , not less than.

Please don’t put yourself down like that. ”

The corners of his lips twitch as he suppresses a smile. Averting his gaze to my hand, he slowly uncurls his fist until his fingers wrap around mine and we’re palm to palm. “Besides cooking, what do you need assistance with?”

The way he’s running his thumb over my knuckles has me thinking about all the assistance those fingers can give me.

Like touching me.

Everywhere.

His eyes search mine, as if he’s trying to read my thoughts. Flustered, I quickly withdraw my hand and reach for my phone.

“Well,” I say, trying to keep my voice even, “give me your phone. I’ll set you up with my grocery app so you can do all the food shopping. That’ll save me time.”

Although he’s reluctant, he lets me install and log into the grocery app.

When he gets up and clears the plates away, I log him out of his Uber app and log in as myself, so whatever trips he has to make will be charged to my account.

He might be mad when he figures that one out, but it’s nothing to me.

I don’t live an extravagant lifestyle, and I’ve never had to pay any rent, resulting in quite a large savings account that barely gets touched.

I’m more than happy to spend some money.

Especially if it keeps him close.

I’m just unsure if I need him here because I want to feel safe, or because I want to feel something else entirely.