“Don’t worry about Yates, he just doesn’t want to have to consider the idea of you in danger,” King admitted and then groaned as if thinking about something.
“What?” I questioned, going up on my toes to brush my lips over his.
“I just hadn’t planned on telling you all this shit about my family until later.” His jaw clenched as his eyes darted down to my lips in thought. “Preferably after you were already stuck with me forever.”
I blinked and then tilted my head. “Stuck with you forever?”
I liked the sound of that.
“Yeah, marriage, stuck with me forever, something like that,” he mused as my eyes widened, his thoughts already elsewhere. “But now I have to tell you, because if I don’t, your beautiful head is going to make it far worse than it actually is, which is impressive on its own. So hopefully it won’t freak you out too much, at least not enough that you would try to run, not that I would ever let you—”
I kissed King to stop his tangent of vulnerability. I so rarely saw it, and while it was sweet and a bit psychotic, I was worried he was working himself up over nothing. I pulled back as he stared at me with dark eyes and let out a frustrated exhale.
“King,” I said as I cupped his jaw, “you’re acting crazy. As long as you don’t tell me that you are going to marry or sleep with some other woman or love someone else besides me, the chances of it actually upsetting me are pretty low.”
King blinked. “Why the fuck would I ever be with anyone but you?”
“Not the point, but very flattering.” I smiled, my face heating again.
“Alright,” he grunted. “Inside then. We can figure out this shooting thing also—”
“Let’s give it a day,” I hedged. “Give everyone a chance to get used to the idea.”
And by ‘everyone,’ I meant Yates.
“I need more coffee!” I insisted, turning towards my empty mug. I grabbed it and planned to head inside, considering how many questions I had now added to my list. I pointed towards King’s phone as he offered me a head nod in understanding of where it was, his conversation with Dermot seeming to amuse Stratton greatly. I walked towards the house, up the back porch steps, and into the kitchen.
I paused only momentarily, finding Sterling and Lincoln sitting at the breakfast table, a full spread of fruit and breakfast foods laid out in front of them. The sight had the back of my neck heating in embarrassment.
There was no reason for it—it wasn’t like they were going to naturally associate food with my problem—but that was what instantly came to mind when I’d seen it.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down casually, trying to not feel like anyone was hyperfocusing on my behavior towards the food on the table in front of me. I knew I had yet to fully confirm the issue to them, but after yesterday, I felt raw and exposed. I wished I had the ability to read their minds, just so I knew what they thought. How they were viewing the situation.
“What is Yates so pissed about?” Lincoln asked, nodding towards the office where Yates was bent over and writing something, indeed looking very grumpy.
“Says it’s not my job to learn how to defend myself.” I shrugged.
Lincoln flashed a smile, shaking his head as he scrolled through what appeared to be a real estate website on his laptop. Sterling slid a plate of food towards me before he got up and went to grab another cup of coffee, humming a Red Hot Chili Peppers song. It was oddly soothing, but it didn’t help the anxiety that rocked through me as I stared at the bagel and fruit on the plate in front of me. I could easily count the calories of this meal and last night’s pasta, creating a number that had me feeling nauseous.
I had read an article recently about spotting signs of your friend or family member focusing too much on their weight or having unhealthy eating habits. One of the ‘signs’ was the overdependence on a calorie counter app. I think that alone had made me realize how bad it had gotten, despite not being able to admit it at the time.
I didn’t need an app anymore, though. I knew obsessively how many calories the food I came in contact with contained, and I had a running total in my head constantly, including everything from the five calories that a lemonade packet had in it to the seventy-four calories in the bowl of soup I ate for lunch. Everything was accounted for obsessively, and when I didn’t know the amount? I estimated up in value.
It was consuming, this habit. This problem. It consumed everything.
That was the only way I could describe it. It consumed every moment and event. I judged days based on how ‘good’ of an eating day it was. When considering what to eat, I thought about how I would look in an outfit I planned to wear to events a week away. It was exhausting, and I had absolutely no idea how to adjust my mindset about it.
It was an impossible feat. I was almost positive about that.
“Breathe, Dahlia,” Lincoln instructed quietly.
My gaze moved over to him, realizing I’d been staring at the plate. I blushed bright pink and opened my mouth to come up with some reason for acting so weird, but the amazing man simply squeezed my leg and turned his laptop towards me, changing the conversation and allowing me to relax and gather myself.
“That’s gorgeous.” I pointed at the property on his laptop.
So I wouldn’t say that I had a thing for purchasing vacation properties because I had never personally done it, but I did love looking at options when I was bored. And when my parents started shopping around, which they did about every other year? I was always happily part of the process. I popped a grape into my mouth as Lincoln began to show me pictures of the stunning garden estate on the screen. I looked down, noting that it was somewhere in Ardara, Ireland.
The place was made of gorgeous grey and black stone surrounded by thick green fields and a long winding road that seemed to be the only way to access it. The front and back of the property featured large gardens blooming with flowers, and behind it was a mass of dark trees that clearly marked the start of a forested region. I found myself more intrigued by each picture as I realized the place had been redone but kept to appear the same way it had looked when it had originally been built. My smile grew at the dark wood furnishings, large stone fireplaces, and stunning classic art that hung on the walls. I could imagine myself drinking tea and watching the rainy weather while reading in front of the fireplace. It was almost storybook perfect, and I found myself wanting to visit terribly.