Page 92 of Love Redesigned

My stomach growls loud enough to have her looking up.

Her gaze flickers from her food to my stomach. “Do you want to stay and have some?”

I blink twice. “What?”

“I ordered way too much anyway.”

“You’re offering me food?”

“No need to make it a big deal and treat it like the Last Supper or anything. You’re obviously hungry, and I’d hate for good food to go to waste.” She holds out a plastic set of utensils and the container filled with brisket—my personal favorite.

“I’m surprised you’re willing to share.”

“You’re the one who always had a problem with sharing. Plus, it’s the least I can do after you drove me to the hospital and everything the other week.”

I take off my suit jacket and throw it on the table before sitting on the floor opposite to her. “You’re right.” I stab into her pile of pulled pork and grab a forkful.

“Hey!” She smacks my fork away with her own.

“I thought you didn’t have a problem with sharing,” I tease before taking a bite. The burst of flavor nearly makes my eyes roll.

“You like it?”

“I didn’t realize how hungry I was.” I don’t speak again until half the brisket is gone.

“Do you usually work this late?” She swallows a forkful of mac and cheese.

“Yup.” I dig into the street corn since Dahlia would cut my hand off with a plastic knife before letting me have some of her mac and cheese.

“Why?”

“Not like I have much else to do.”

She looks at me with a strange expression. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you could enjoy life a little?”

“I do.”

“Really? Because you’re kind of a workaholic.”

I frown. “So what?”

“It’s not a bad thing, per se.” She looks up at the ceiling.

“You sure make it sound like one.”

“It’s sad to think you made all this money at such a young age to make life easier, yet all you do is work anyway.”

“I like my job.”

“But do you love it?” She stays quiet as she takes a few more bites of her food.

Not anymore.

As if she can read my mind, she makes a confirmatory noise.

“What?” I ask.

“You don’t seem happy.”

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