Page 46 of The Enemy Face Off

"No. It's fine." She rests her fork against the side of the bowl. "I'm the black sheep in my family. Literally, I'm the only one with jet-black hair."

I slow my chewing. "Okay."

"They're all very accomplished in their fields. Dad's ex-military, Mom runs a national nonprofit, Schapelle is a best-selling author, Tenley holds a top position in management within a luxury resort chain, and Allie founded and runs a super successful 'elite training center to the stars' in Hollywood."

Hearing the heaviness in her voice, I try to brighten her up a little. "I'll make an exception and allow the use of air quotes this one time."

She cracks a tiny grin. "Thanks."

"But you're accomplished, too, though."

"No. I'm not. I work in a bookstore.Retail, as Mom likes to call it when she really wants to drive the point home of how beneath me she thinks it is."

"People need books, Beth," I say. "Reading is one of life's greatest pleasures. You help people find stories that will make them laugh and cry, feel all sorts of things, and see the world and themselves in brand new ways. That's not nothing."

"I guess." Her eyes travel to the window, and there's a sadness in her that I can't quite place. "I'm just so different from my family. They're all optimistic, energetic, outdoorsy people. I hate the outdoors, except for my morning walks. I'm not a pessimist by any means, but I'm not as cheery and hopeful as they are. My idea of a perfect afternoon is enjoying homemade banana bread, a cup of tea, and nonstop reading. And…"

I steeple my fingers and fix my gaze on her. "And what?"

She turns back to look at me, and I can tell she's nervous, weighing up whether to tell me this next thing or not.

I keep my eyes focused on her, sensing now is not the time to back down and praying my instincts are right. We're on the verge of something here. I can feel it.

"I used to be fat," she says bluntly, pushing her plate away. "So, not only am I the complete opposite of my family career-wise and personality-wise, but I've always had to deal with being the only big one, too." She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Sorry, I shouldn't be dumping all this on you."

"Don't be sorry. I asked."

I see her fingers tapping the countertop, and I have this sudden urge to reach across it and take her hand in mine.

But my brain kicks in—my survival instinct, too—and I have the good sense to keep my hands to myself.

Beth opening up to me is one thing.

Me touching her—even if it is purely innocent and solely motivated by wanting to comfort her and nothing else—is another thing entirely.

We are definitely not there yet.

"Has your family ever made you feel bad about yourself?"

"Oh, gosh. No. It's never been an issue. Not even for Mom, who literally criticizes every decision I make. My size has been the sole thing I had a pass on."

That's something. I would have hated for her to be dealing with added pressure or criticism from the people who are meant to love you unconditionally.

There is something else I'm wondering about, but I have to phrase it carefully. "Do you mind if I ask how you…"

"Lost the weight?"

I nod and take a bite of my sandwich, feeling awkward for wanting to know. It's not that it matters to me. It doesn't. I'm sure Beth was just as beautiful then as she is now. I'm just curious.

"It's nothing too exciting. I didn't do any crash diets or anything drastic. I made small incremental changes to my diet, I walk every day, and I limit the sweets I eat. It took about three years for me to get to this size, and yeah, that's how I did it."

She makes another one of her noises, and I wish there was some way to catalog them so that I can access them whenever the need to feel close to her arises.

Because yes, I'm the weirdo who's so infatuated by a girl that he wants to create a library of the noises she makes because he can't get enough of them.

Can't get enoughofher.

"Anyway, enough about me." Beth picks up her fork and pierces it through a leaf of lettuce. "Let's talk about something else."

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