Page 11 of Maddox

"Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?" I suggested gently, hoping to put her more at ease. "What do you like to do for fun?"

She looked startled by the question, as if she hadn't thought about it in a long time. "I...I used to love reading," she said hesitantly. "And painting. But lately..." She trailed off, looking down at her hands.

"It's been hard to enjoy things?" I finished softly. She nodded, not meeting my eyes.

"That's understandable, Clare. You've been through a lot. But maybe we can try to rediscover some of those things you used to love. No pressure, just...exploring a bit."

Clare looked up at me, a mix of hope and uncertainty in her eyes. "Maybe," she said softly. "I'm not sure I even remember how to enjoy things anymore. I was doing a Bachelor’s in Fine Art."

My heart ached at her words. "So, you’re an artist?” I could work with that. “We'll take it slow," I assured her. "Maybe wecould start with something simple. Do you have any books here that you used to love?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "There's...there's a shelf in my bedroom. I haven't looked at them in months, though."

"Would it be okay if I take a look?" I asked gently. "We could pick one out together, if you'd like."

Clare bit her lip, considering. Then she nodded. "Okay," she whispered.

I followed her to the bedroom, noting how bare and impersonal it felt. No photos, no decorations. Just a bed and a small bookshelf. But as I looked, I saw marks on the wall where there had been pictures. It was almost like she was trying to erase her life.

As Clare stood back, I scanned the titles. Most were classics—Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters, Dickens. But tucked in the corner, I spotted a well-worn copy ofThe Little Prince.

"This one looks like it's been read a lot," I said softly, pulling it out.

Clare's eyes widened slightly as if she didn’t expect to see it. "That was...that was my favorite when I was younger," she admitted. "My mom used to read it to me."

I held the book out to her. "Would you like to read it together?”

Clare hesitated, her fingers hovering over the book. I could see the conflict in her eyes—the longing to reconnect with something she once loved battling against the fear of letting her guard down.

Maybe that explained the emptiness of the apartment. If she’d decorated to suit her personality, when she came back, she’d gotten rid of any reminders. "We don't have to if you're not comfortable," I said gently. "We could just look at it together, or I could read a bit out loud. Whatever feels okay for you."

She took a shaky breath, then carefully took the book from my hands. "Maybe...maybe you could read a little?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, trying to hide my excitement at this small step. "Of course. Why don't we go sit on the couch? It'll be more comfortable."

Clare followed me back to the living room, curling up on one end of the couch while I sat at the other, giving her plenty of space. She handed me the book, and I opened it carefully, noting the well-worn pages and faded illustrations. I started reading, showing her the illustrations as I continued, and eventually she was leaning more my way to follow along as I read. I pretended I didn’t see the yawn she tried to hide or her drooping eyelids, but by the time I’d finished the next chapter, she was fast asleep. Much as I wanted to put her to bed, tuck her in, and simply guard her while she slept, I decided pulling a warm throw over her would be a good idea knowing the groceries would be delivered soon.

By the time I heard her stirring, the chicken parm was just about ready and I was finishing a small salad to go with it. At home, or with the guys, I would have made triple this amount per person, but I was being careful not to overwhelm her. She sat up looking fuzzy from sleep and cute as all hell. I was struggling to keep my Daddy hands off her, so it was with great force of will I dished up the food while she went to the bathroom alone.

When she came back, I had two bowls on the small table next to the couch. I didn’t want to go to the table, trying to keep it low-key. She sat down and glanced at the dish but before she had chance to pick up her fork or napkin, I scooped up a small mouthful with my own fork and held it to her lips. “Here, try this.”

Clare froze, her eyes widening as she stared at the fork hovering in front of her lips. For a moment, I worried I'd pushedtoo far too fast. But then, hesitantly, she leaned forward and accepted the bite.

As she chewed, her eyes closed, and a soft hum of pleasure escaped her. "That's...really good," she admitted quietly.

I smiled, warmth blooming in my chest. "I'm glad you like it. Do you want to try another bite?"

Clare hesitated, conflict clear on her face. But after a moment, she nodded slightly.

I fed her another small bite, watching as some of the tension seemed to leave her shoulders. We continued like this for a few more bites, until Clare reached for her own fork.

"I can...I can feed myself," she said, though her voice held a hint of uncertainty.

"Of course," I said gently. "Whatever you're comfortable with."

We ate in companionable silence for a while. I noticed Clare only managed about half her portion, but it was more than I suspected she'd been eating lately, so I counted it as a win.

As we finished, Clare set her fork down and looked at me hesitantly. "Thank you," she said softly. "For...for all of this. The food, and the reading earlier. It was nice."

---