Page 37 of Outlier

Vicky shook her head. “Mike, I am well aware that I don’t meet standards of normal behaviour. I’m an outlier in society.”

“Well, maybe that’s why I like you so much. Who cares about standards of normal behaviour? I like that you’re unpredictable.”

She bit her lip. “You do?” Her voice was so small now, that even in the complete silence of the cabin, I had to strain to hear her.

That was it. There was no way I couldn’t go to her after that.

I strode forward and when I was a foot away I asked, “Can I hug you?”

She nodded, and my arms closed around her. As she burrowed into my chest and her small hands clutched at my shirt, I released a long breath, only then aware of the tension I’d been carrying with not having her in my arms.

Chapter 14

Green salad with no dressing

Vicky

I felta trickle of sweat roll down my back as I stared at the menu. There was nothing here that I could realistically tolerate.

When I glanced up at Mike, I could see he was watching me for a reaction, and I managed a smile, at least I hoped I did—Mike’s frown in response would suggest it was more of a grimace.

Right, I told myself,get it together and woman up, as Lottie would say. I needed to get these ridiculous food aversions under control.

I had come a long way since childhood, when for years, I’d only been able to tolerate plain pasta, cheese sandwiches, and fish fingers. It had driven my mother crazy. She once didn’t give me anything I could eat for three days, trying to break me of the habit under the assumption that if I got hungry enough, I would eat.

I didn’t eat.

It was only when she was called in to the school after I nearly fainted in assembly that she gave in.

“You can’t even eat like a normal human,”Rebecca had taunted me.

I could still hear her voice in my head now. She was right.

But I’d come a long way. Nowadays, I could eat a varied diet, and I approached that with military precision, consulting nutritionists and focusing on health. I only lapsed back into old habits of not eating when I was stressed or unhappy.

But I couldn’t stand rich food. Sauces were a complete no-no, as was shellfish and rare meat. To be honest, when I was feeling as anxious as I was in that moment, I could only really manage absolutely plain chicken, undercooked broccoli—I couldn’t stand it squishy—and plain potatoes or pasta.

I certainly wasn’t going to be able to eat chateaubriand, Dover sole in lemon sauce or lobster thermidor.

“Vicky?” Mike asked, and my eyes snapped up to his from my frantic perusal of the menu. “Is this okay?”

He cleared his throat and shifted his big body on the delicate chair.

This restaurant didn’t suit Mike at all, and I was surprised he’d brought me here. It was pretentious in the extreme, with a Michelin star and rave reviews in theGuardian.

And Mike looked different as well. He was wearing a shirt, smart jeans, and a pair of dress shoes. Apart from the black-tie outfit the other night, I’d never seen him in anything other than his work boots or trainers with well-worn combat trousers that had multiple pockets all over them, or paint-stained jeans.

His beard was trimmed tonight, and I missed the unruly wildness of before.

“This was the fanciest one I could get a booking on short notice.” He shrugged. “You’re probably used to better, but I didn’t want to wait and?—”

“No,” I said with a frown. “No more waiting.”

He smiled at me, and I felt my cheeks heat.

After that morning at his cabin, Mike had told me that he didn’t want to rush things. He wanted to take me out on an official date before we did any more of the touching stuff.

I’m afraid I was a little grumpy about this. But when I’d been wrapped in his arms in his beautiful house, having eaten the breakfast that he’d prepared after taking great pains to find out what I liked—something nobody had ever done before in my life other than Margot, who didn’t really count because she felt obligated to look after me, and she was a good person—I was fully ready for the sex.