A tear streaked down her face, and she rubbed her cheek against her shoulder. Ty put his hand on the table, and left it there, palm up, a silent offer of support. She stared at his open hand for a moment, before tracing the creases on his palm with her index finger.
“I like who I am now, and my relationship with food is normal and healthy. But I always leave that last bit to prove to myself that I can. I don’t have to. I know I can. But I like doing it. It makes me feel in control.”
And for a woman who likely often felt as if her life was being controlled around her—by her autocratic brother insisting she accept a bodyguard, or impossible clients, or a lover who was way too fucking domineering in the bedroom, and remote and icy outside of it—Ty was beginning to understand that that bit of self-governance was important.
And he was also grasping just how unfair he had been to her these last few weeks. In his own quest to be the one in absolute authority, he’d stripped too much power from her. Theirs was an unequal “relationship”. He had cultivated it to be that way, convinced that it was the only way they could make it work.
But now, after hearing this…He was no longer so sure.
She stopped tracing patterns on his skin, and slipped her small hand into his, her palm kissing his.
“I think—” His voice was so low, it scraped across the floor. He winced and dislodged the gravel from his throat before continuing. “I think you’re incredibly brave, honey.”
“Not really. I just decided to stop being a coward. There’s a difference.”
“Not that I can see.”
She smiled, a melancholy parting of her lips that was nowhere near the blindingly beautiful smiles with which she usually gifted him.
“Are you going to leave now?” she asked in a small, uncertain voice. “Now that dinner is over, I mean?”
“Do you want me to?” It terrified him how very much he wanted to stay. But he wasn’t sure where her mind was at.
“I’m going to have some ice-cream for dessert later. And watch a soppy movie. You probably don’t want to hang around for that.”
“I don’t have anything better to do.”
They were still holding hands across the dining room table, and she gave his fingers a squeeze. “Be warned, the movie will likely be very soppy. And I’ll probably cry. Hormones, you know? Think you can handle that?”
He grinned. “Honey, I never could resist a challenge. Bring it on and watch me not flinch.”
She giggled, a delightful sound that he was already borderline addicted to.
“I’ll get the ice-cream. You pick the movie.” He released her hand reluctantly, and she bounced from the chair toward the living room.
“There are about fifty flavors of ice-cream in that freezer,” she called over her shoulder. “All but one belong to my capricious brother… Hugh can never decide which flavor he likes the best. The chocolate marshmallow is the only one that truly matters. Don’t bother with bowls. Just bring spoons.”
The movie was godawful. Some tripe about an uptight “city” woman who moved to a small town and immediately clashed with the local handyman. A too-handsome guy who seemed to own an inordinate amount of plaid flannel shirts. She bought a farm, adopted a pig, and Handyman kept doing handy things, while City Girl complained whenever he had the nerve to help her out.
It was a snooze fest but apparently there were hidden depths that Ty was missing because Vicki—who had burrowed against his chest at some point—had her arm curled around a box of tissues, and seemed to be sniffling her way through the entire damned movie.
What in the actual fuck?
Ty didn’t get it. Handyman showed up unannounced to fixed the wiring—was he even licensed to do that?—aaaand floodgates.
Handyman and City Girl had an argument and wound up kissing… Sobs.
The pig had babies—which Handyman delivered, of course, because the guy could do fucking everything!—awws and sniffles.
City Girl went back to the city, even though she had no real reason to do so, and Handyman followed her to cringingly announce his love for her—in public—embarrassing her in front of her colleagues. Jesus. The guy was such a douche. But naturally City Girl thought it was amazing and…yeah, Vicki used up several tissues during that scene.
When the credits finally rolled, Ty couldn’t believe he’d sat through an hour and a half of such utter drivel…but, when he looked down at the top of Vicki’s head, he understood why he had tolerated it. He liked having her snuggled so contentedly against him. About an hour ago, when she had massaged her abdomen, clearly in discomfort, he had granted himself a momentary reprieve from the movie to heat the unicorn beanbag warmer he had spotted on the side table earlier.