Page 40 of Tell Me No Lies

And I won't do that to her. I chose to live like this, she didn't. I fully intend to have Piper in my home, but not until she would consider it a home too.

Piper’s gaze finally leaves me, dropping to the plate in her hands. She looks it over for a few long seconds before saying, "You don't cut your grilled cheese."

I shrug, picking mine up and taking a big bite, relieved at the shift in conversation. "Do most people?"

Her mouth barely curves into some semblance of a sad smile. "I think so. When I was little, my mom cut mine into four pieces, and I loved eating those little triangles."

Again, I can sense the shift in her. Piper wears her emotions on her sleeve. That's probably why she spews so much anger and sarcasm. She hopes the thick layer will hide what's underneath. "Sounds like you might have eaten a lot of grilled cheese when you were little."

Piper’s sad smile holds. "Actually, my mom made all kinds of things when I was little, and she always made sure everything was fun for me to eat." A shadow moves across her eyes. "But then..."

I want more. I want whatever the fuck she’ll give me. I'm desperate to possess all the pieces of Piper. Not so I can put them back together again—I know from experience that's not possible—so I can keep them safe. Make sure not a single one of them gets broken again.

But I won't push for it. I only want them if she's willing to give them to me.

Piper clears her throat, sitting up a little straighter as she blows out a long breath. "Then she got married, and everything changed." She tears off a vicious bite of the sandwich I made her, chewing as if it personally attacked her.

And maybe it fucking had.

"When I was a kid, a lot of what we ate came from the food bank. It wasn't always the freshest, so I guess technically my grilled cheese was cut too, but it was to get rid of the mold around the edges of the bread." I’m not telling her this to make her feel bad for me. I'm telling her this to offer something back. A piece of myself since I now own a piece of her. "Sometimes it was all I would eat for weeks straight. Grilled cheese for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

Piper's brows pinch together. "Why do you still eat it then? Aren’t you sick of grilled cheese?"

I stare down at my sandwich. At the fresh bread and cheese. "I eat them because they help me see how far I’ve come but also remember where I came from." I pick it up and take another bite, swallowing it down before continuing. "And remind me I never want to go back there again."

Piper's eyes hold mine a few seconds before they slowly drift away, moving around my unfinished dining room. "Is that why your house is this way? To remind you?"

I almost laugh at how fucking stupid I was to think I'd ever had a chance against this woman. She's too perceptive. Too insightful.

Too capable of seeing what I've tried so hard to hide.

"Partly." I leave it at that because the rest of the reason is even more complicated.

And something I'm going to have to face. Soon.

I tip my head at her plate. "Eat so you can take some ibuprofen. You need something in your stomach so it doesn't upset it."

Piper rolls her eyes, but this time the gesture is more playful and accompanied by a smile. "Fine."

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do, Piper. I just don't like seeing you in pain." I hope she understands I would never try to control her. Never.

Piper shoots me a grin as she picks up her fork and takes a bite of the pasta salad. "I know you're not trying to tell me what to do." Her smile sweetens to the point it could spike my insulin as she leans closer and angles the tines of her utensil my way. "If I thought that, I would have already stabbed you with your own fork."

16

HAVE PLASTIC FORK, WILL TRAVEL

PIPER

"I FEEL RIDICULOUS." I resist the urge to touch my hair, not wanting to ruin an hour’s worth of work or be forced to attempt the style a second time. I’m already a little worried I won’t be able to recreate it tomorrow without Myra’s help, so I for sure don’t want to have to try to do it today.

"Join the club." Tate hefts my second-hand suitcase into the back of his SUV, sliding it next to his.

He looks grumpy as hell, and it makes me want to smile. At least I know I'll be in good company. "You don't look ridiculous." I tip my head as I take in his khaki pants and short-sleeved button-up. "You just look weird."

His clothes aren’t the only strange thing about the ensemble he's wearing. The normal scruff on his face has been shaved off, leaving his sharp jaw smooth as a baby's ass. The unruliness of his wavy dark hair has been tamed. Slicked into a side part that would make any choir boy proud.

But the strangest thing is the wedding band on his left hand. It's going to take some time to get used to that. Almost as much time as it's going to take to get used to the one on mine.

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