Page 82 of Love Not Qualified

“Meaning?”

God, why couldn’t he just let it slide?

“Meaning…” I started, my throat dry. I glanced down at my cuticles, ripping one away before meeting his eyes again. “Every time I eat, I feel like throwing up.”

I waited for him to laugh, transform his face into a scrunch, and even get up or try to change the subject, but he just stood there, seeming to assimilate the information. He pursed his lips together, then slid off his seat.

My heart started racing in my chest.

That was it. I ruined whatever we had—whether it was professional or not—by showing him a piece of me. He had every right to run away from a complication like myself, after all, no one wants to take care of an adult baby who doesn’t feed properly.

The bench I was standing on lowered under a weight and I shot my eyes up, seeing Mr. Graves sitting down next to me. His expression was serious, not a single muscle on his face moving as he leaned down and grabbed the fork, lifting it to his mouth.

He chewed, then swallowed it with ease. “This is good.” He nodded, pointing at my plate.

What was he doing?

I was still at a loss for words when he cut another portion, then put a hand under the one that held the fork and guided it to my lips. I looked at him, unmoving, unblinking.

“If you don’t want to eat, I’m not going to force you. But I think it’ll be easier for you to start with something you like,” he said, still holding the bite in front of my face.

He was… feeding me? Why would he even bother when I’ve been trying for years and it didn’t work? And better, what made him think it would work now?

Truth was, what other choice did I have? I lost a lot of weight in the past few months, I lacked energy and faced headaches I’ve grown used to every day. As Merielle told me, I couldn’t go on like this, so why not give it a try?

I took a deep breath and kept my eyes on him as my mouth parted open and gathered the pancakes off the fork. I closed my eyes, swallowing what felt like a rock, and when I opened them again, Mr. Graves was chewing his bite.

“Should we try another one?” he asked.

A warm feeling settled on my chest, my stomach tightening into knots.

Why is he taking care of me?

The question was sitting on the tip of my tongue, but I brushed it away, deciding to enjoy the moment instead of ruining it.

I didn’t remember the last time a man cared for me—I was always the one to do that. So having him in front of me, with a smooth expression, deep eyes, and a patience that seemed unmovable, made me feel… important.

So I nodded, and let him feed me like a goddamn newborn without a single sensation of shame. After the third bite, the food started rising up to my throat, so I stopped eating. Tristan dragged the plate in front of him and finished the rest of the pancakes while sharing more childhood stories.

He didn’t judge. He didn’t insist. He didn’t make me feel ashamed. He just accepted how I was.

And I liked who I was around him.

THIRTY

TRISTAN

Later that night, after the movie we were watching ended, Sebastian and Nadia went to sleep which left me alone in the small living room with Haelyn. Neither of us made a move to leave. Instead, we kept our eyes on the TV, unsure what to do as silence surrounded us.

Even if Haelyn didn’t tell me the reason she couldn’t eat, I was glad she trusted me enough to tell the truth. We ate the pancakes together and when we got home, she finished a handful of the salad I made separately for her. It was more than she had eaten in the past few days, so I was pleased with the amount.

It was just a matter of time until she was going to get better and I knew it was the same for me.

No one knew about my addiction, and yet it felt natural to let it all out to Haelyn. While she said what any other person would, hearing it from her made me feel an ongoing urge to quit drinking.

I was going to throw away any alcohol in my house the moment I stepped inside.

“The snow is almost melted in this part of the city,” I heard a distant voice say and my eyes froze on the screen where a reporter was talking.

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