Page 25 of Jilted

I blinked a few times. “Wait. I said no.”

He didn’t turn around as he responded. “Your father’s right. You need to eat.”

“But, but you don’t even know what I want.”

He chucked a smile over his shoulder. “Sure I do.”

Fifteen minutes later, Wilder returned with a large takeout bag. He motioned to the small tables across from the bar and spoke to my dad. “Any particular table?”

“Why don’t you go toward the back, where it’s quieter?”

My head volleyed back and forth between the two men, who acted like I wasn’t here. When I looked to Dad, he gestured to Wilder, who was already approaching the back table. “Run along.”

I sighed. “You’re leaving in an Uber as soon as I’m done.”

Wilder had unpacked a bunch of tins when I got to the table. “How many people are eating?” I asked. “Six containers?”

“I figured I’d get a few choices.”

I slid into one side of the booth. “You wouldn’t have had to do that if you’daskedwhat I wanted.”

He pushed a tin over to my side. “Spaghetti carbonara.”

My jaw dropped. “How did you know it was my favorite?”

He grinned and sat down. “I have my ways.”

I’d gone to therapy at lunch today, so I was actually pretty hungry. I peeled the lid back and salivated at the smell that wafted through the air. “Why don’t I go get us some real plates, and we can share?”

“Sounds good.”

I disappeared into the back and returned with plates, utensils, and drinks. Wilder was at the bar with one of the tins. Dad took whatever it was with a big smile.

“What did you give him?” I asked when Wilder sat back down.

“The cheesecake he said he liked. They had plain or blueberries on top. I got the blueberry—loaded with antioxidants and easy to chew. Does he have difficulty swallowing, too?” He paused. “My grandfather had Parkinson’s. He had trouble chewing.”

I shook my head. “Luckily he doesn’t. At least not yet. Thank you for doing that.”

“I didn’t get us any desserts. I wasn’t sure if you could have them.”

I tilted my head. “Why do you say that?”

“I noticed the insulin pump on the back of your arm when you were walking away today.” He pointed his fork at me. “See? I wasn’tjustlooking at your ass.”

I smiled.

Wilder opened the rest of the tins, and we loaded up our plates. He eyed mine.

I shrugged and forked a mouthful of pasta. “I didn’t get to eat lunch.”

His lip twitched. “Wasn’t judging. I like a woman who eats. Just taking note of what you picked.”

“Why would you do that?”

“For when you come over. I like to cook. And eat pasta in bed after sex.”

I covered my full mouth, laughing. “There’s so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t know where to start.”

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