“You want to clean up the mess?”
“I’m fine.”
He pushed his chair back. “I’ll help you.”
“What? No.” She stood and waved him back. “You stay. Eat. I’ll be just a minute.” Idiot. Knowing she’d grown red with embarrassment, she flew into the kitchen and quickly tidied the mess. Ten minutes later, she sat at the table once again, glancing at his full plate.
She stared down at her clenched hands. “Sorry.”
What must he think of her? God, why couldn’t she just be like everybody else?
He leaned over and lifted her face up, his finger beneath her chin. “No need.”
No need to be sorry? She thought there was every need.
“I know it’s not normal and now your dinner’s probably cold. You really should have eaten without me—”
He placed a finger over her lips, stilling her rambling. “That’s what a microwave’s for.”
She blinked for a minute, not following then smiled a little. Finally, she let out a laugh. “You’re really not annoyed?”
“Don’t know why I would be.”
“You’re a special guy, Tiny.”
“That an insult?”
“No, of course not,” she said hastily, horrified he would think she’d been insulting him. “I meant—”
He placed his hand on her shoulder, the warmth of his hand immediately making her breath catch. Her whole body tensed in reaction. “Relax.”
She let out a deep breath, unaware she’d been holding it. He released her shoulder and started eating.
“Not sure I like how much you tease me.”
“But it’s such fun.”
“For you maybe.” But she smiled to let him know she wasn’t really upset.
“Didn’t you go to school?” he asked suddenly.
“No. My mother home-schooled me. My parents believed schools were a place of moral corruption, and they didn’t want the other kids leading me down the wrong path. They were very devout. We used to spend Sunday’s reading scripture, and if I had been particularly willful or disobedient that week, I would have to spend hours on my knees reciting phrases from the old testament or writing lines, passages from the bible my parents thought were particularly relevant in regard to my behavior.”
She saw his frown.
“I wasn’t abused or anything,” she said hastily, not wanting him to get the wrong impression. “They never hit me. I was never even spanked. Maybe that’s why I’m so interested in it now.”
Whoops, she hadn’t meant to say that. Maybe that glass of wine had been a mistake.
“That so?” He leaned back in his chair, watching her with interest. “Feel free to elaborate.”
She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Just. She was surprised by the childish urge. When had she ever stuck her tongue out at someone? She remembered doing it once to her father, and he’d soaped her mouth out. She wrinkled her nose.
“Want to share that thought?”
“Just remembering how bad soap tastes.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You eat soap?”