a pause between them. Their eyes locked and she forgot both her need for food and her embarrassment.
“You should eat, Cake,” Hassan said, though he hadn’t bothered to look away when he said so.
Slowly, Edy began to chew. When she did, she thought of his earlier words. “Who told you guys what I said about mom? Or that me and her argued?”
Hassan grabbed another samosa for her. “Well, apparently my dad’s a consultant for your mom’s political campaign. Not sure why when your dad’s around. Maybe they both are? Anyway, someone came over and consulted him. In the midst of that, the country bumpkin bit came out because it was funny, I guess. How could someone not tell that?” He shrugged. “People will be telling that for years; I’ll bet.”
Edy chewed, then swallowed her food. As she did, she thought about the way she’d screamed and stomped upstairs. “I had a tantrum,” she said. “I let her get to me and I threw a fit. It’s nothing to be proud of.” Shame pooled in her pores.
Hassan sighed. “Cake,” he said. His green-gold gaze flicked back and forth, eyes hooded and searching before settling again on her. “She’s your mom. It’s her job to solidify you, build you up, not tear you down. So what if you lashed out once? Everyone has a breaking point. Anyway, no blood’s been spilled. You and Becca will live to see another day.”
He slipped a hand round to the back of her neck and pulled Edy in so they pressed foreheads together, then noses, and finally, at last, a brush of the lips. He tasted sweet, with lips stained of strawberry, and she reeled him closer, impossibly close, twisting his coat in with her fists.
“Edy,” he groaned. “I came to make sure you ate. To make you feel better.”
She kissed his neck. “Make me feel better then.”
He chuckled and dropped a hand to her thigh. His fingers danced, tracing circles in hesitancy as a faint smile painted his lips. Whatever resistance he’d built up lasted until her kisses found the sensitive skin shadowed behind his ear. Hassan gasped, fingers digging to the bone of her hip. He might have said her name. He might have said nothing. He shoved aside the food and gripped her blankets, twisting them in a fist.
“I’m doing a horrible job convincing you to eat,” he said.
“You could feed me,” Edy suggested.
His brow darted up. “I like the way you think.”
Soon, he was back with the tray of samosas and propped up on one arm.
“Part those lips for me,” Hassan said.
Edy did and he tucked the first bite between them. A burst of flavor found her in an instant. Then the rest of the samosa toppled on her shirt.
They burst out laughing. Filling ran the length of her shirt like bird droppings before dumping in her lap for the finish.
“So much for smooth moves.” He sighed before looking her up and down. “Unless, of course, you want to just get out of all that right now.”
Edy rolled her eyes. So much for smooth moves for real.
“Anyway, as much as I’d love to lie here all night and be seduced by you, I don’t want to push my luck with mom.” He gestured to the samosas. “Especially since she knows I came to feed you. I couldn’t eat knowing you hadn’t.”
“Thank you,” she said. Of all the things he’d said to her, and they numbered the stars, she counted that among the sweetest.
Thirteen
Edy had nightmares she didn’t remember. Kicking, twisting, mumbling events that made her streak tears in her sleep. She did it most nights in Kentucky, but never cried while awake. She never cried, never cried out, and never called for Hassan like he wished she would. In Gaitlin, he’d hesitated, always waiting a split second in insecure hope that she’d need him, or maybe just want him in the throes of fear. But always, he’d buckle in a flush of fright and shake her awake, desperate to save her a thousand times over. When he woke her, she’d feed him the most oblivious of expressions before asking
“You should eat, Cake,” Hassan said, though he hadn’t bothered to look away when he said so.
Slowly, Edy began to chew. When she did, she thought of his earlier words. “Who told you guys what I said about mom? Or that me and her argued?”
Hassan grabbed another samosa for her. “Well, apparently my dad’s a consultant for your mom’s political campaign. Not sure why when your dad’s around. Maybe they both are? Anyway, someone came over and consulted him. In the midst of that, the country bumpkin bit came out because it was funny, I guess. How could someone not tell that?” He shrugged. “People will be telling that for years; I’ll bet.”
Edy chewed, then swallowed her food. As she did, she thought about the way she’d screamed and stomped upstairs. “I had a tantrum,” she said. “I let her get to me and I threw a fit. It’s nothing to be proud of.” Shame pooled in her pores.
Hassan sighed. “Cake,” he said. His green-gold gaze flicked back and forth, eyes hooded and searching before settling again on her. “She’s your mom. It’s her job to solidify you, build you up, not tear you down. So what if you lashed out once? Everyone has a breaking point. Anyway, no blood’s been spilled. You and Becca will live to see another day.”
He slipped a hand round to the back of her neck and pulled Edy in so they pressed foreheads together, then noses, and finally, at last, a brush of the lips. He tasted sweet, with lips stained of strawberry, and she reeled him closer, impossibly close, twisting his coat in with her fists.
“Edy,” he groaned. “I came to make sure you ate. To make you feel better.”
She kissed his neck. “Make me feel better then.”
He chuckled and dropped a hand to her thigh. His fingers danced, tracing circles in hesitancy as a faint smile painted his lips. Whatever resistance he’d built up lasted until her kisses found the sensitive skin shadowed behind his ear. Hassan gasped, fingers digging to the bone of her hip. He might have said her name. He might have said nothing. He shoved aside the food and gripped her blankets, twisting them in a fist.
“I’m doing a horrible job convincing you to eat,” he said.
“You could feed me,” Edy suggested.
His brow darted up. “I like the way you think.”
Soon, he was back with the tray of samosas and propped up on one arm.
“Part those lips for me,” Hassan said.
Edy did and he tucked the first bite between them. A burst of flavor found her in an instant. Then the rest of the samosa toppled on her shirt.
They burst out laughing. Filling ran the length of her shirt like bird droppings before dumping in her lap for the finish.
“So much for smooth moves.” He sighed before looking her up and down. “Unless, of course, you want to just get out of all that right now.”
Edy rolled her eyes. So much for smooth moves for real.
“Anyway, as much as I’d love to lie here all night and be seduced by you, I don’t want to push my luck with mom.” He gestured to the samosas. “Especially since she knows I came to feed you. I couldn’t eat knowing you hadn’t.”
“Thank you,” she said. Of all the things he’d said to her, and they numbered the stars, she counted that among the sweetest.
Thirteen
Edy had nightmares she didn’t remember. Kicking, twisting, mumbling events that made her streak tears in her sleep. She did it most nights in Kentucky, but never cried while awake. She never cried, never cried out, and never called for Hassan like he wished she would. In Gaitlin, he’d hesitated, always waiting a split second in insecure hope that she’d need him, or maybe just want him in the throes of fear. But always, he’d buckle in a flush of fright and shake her awake, desperate to save her a thousand times over. When he woke her, she’d feed him the most oblivious of expressions before asking
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