Wishing Well(65)

He shook his head. “No.” His expression tightened, as if he were attempting to conjure words he wasn’t used to speaking. “I’d like it if you eat with me.” A flash of embarrassment rolled across his expression, his head tilted down as his eyes tipped up, like a dog waiting to be hit. I wouldn’t be the one to slap him.

“Do you think there’s enough?”

Maurice nodded his head.

Not sure what to do now that we’d gotten this far, I made a decision to be the first to make physical contact with a man who was obviously afraid he’d hurt me. Slowly, so as not to startle him or give the wrong indication that I was leaving, I inched around the edge of his desk, stepping as close as I could to him while extending my hand. He stared at it as if not knowing what to do next.

“I’m offering to lead you to the table,” I explained, “by holding your hand. All you have to do is reach up and take it.”

His eyes remained fixed to my palm as if it would snap out and smack him. Eventually, though, he lifted those gorgeous green eyes to mine, insecurity written behind them as he lifted his hand and wrapped it with mine. His skin felt like it was on fire, the heat of him helping drive the cold anger from my bones.

Tugging softly so that he would stand from his seat, I led him across the room to where his food sat waiting. Taking a chair, I let go of his hand and patiently waited for him to sit. Neither of us reached to remove the dome from his plate immediately, we just sat staring at one another as thoughts raced through our heads. After a few seconds, he finally broke our stare to lift the dome from the plate and released a scent that sent my stomach tumbling through another loud growl.

Maurice chuckled, the sound not loud or boisterous enough to be called a true laugh, but I smiled regardless because it was a start. It was the first time I saw even the bare hint of happiness in his eyes.

The only problem we faced was that there was one plate and one silverware setting. We would have to find a way to share and Maurice appeared confused as to what to do.

Deciding to make this fun, I joked, “You can feed me if you want.”

His eyes lifted to meet mine. “What do you mean?”

Taking the fork and unwrapping it from the cloth napkin, I slid it over to him. “You take a bite, and then you can give me a bite. Back and forth, so it’s fair.”

“Fair,” he repeated, more to himself than to me. It didn’t take a genius to figure out this beautiful, lonely man had no idea how to handle himself around company. Sure, he may have been used to doctors and counselors, Vincent, and other people that studied him like an animal in a zoo, but he didn’t understand what to do when a person sat beside him with the intention of being a friend.

The realization only cemented my decision to become anything he needed. If Vincent wouldn’t let Maurice upstairs to see the sunshine, I’d bring the sunshine to him.

“Want me to show you?”

He nodded, his cheeks flaring red. It was so intriguing watching a man who had the strength and aggression to rip my head from my body fighting to behave like an ordinary person. Like watching a lion tuck a napkin into his collar while sitting at a table sharing lunch with the gazelle instead of eating them.

“Okay.” Sliding the fork back to my side of the table, I picked it up, scooped up a bit of the chopped steak and sautéed onions before carefully reaching across to offer it to Maurice. He stared at it for a few seconds, his eyes flicking to mine before he opened his mouth, and used his teeth to slide the food off the tines.

Smiling, I scooped up another bite and ate it myself. After moaning softly from how amazing the food tasted, I chewed, swallowed, and then slid to the fork back over to him. “Now you try.”

Maurice picked up the fork, carefully loading it with food while I tried not to think that this could go very wrong. What if the food fell off before he could get it to me? What if I didn’t take the bite fast enough to reassure him that I was still his friend? What if he stabbed the fork in my eye to teach me a painful lesson that he was more of a wild animal than a civilized man?

It could go either way, I realized, but still I sat and waited for him to reach to me and offer me a bite of food.

Locking my gaze with his, I smiled shyly before opening my mouth to take the bite. The way his eyes dipped down to study my mouth, the way his nostrils flared slightly, the heat I saw beaming from his face, it did funny things to my body while I slid the food from the fork.

After chewing, I had to fight to swallow, the food colliding with the frantic storm of butterfly wings in my stomach.

The remainder of the meal was spent much in the same way, Maurice’s shoulders relaxing with each minute that passed, with each shy smile shared between us. Once the plate was clean, Maurice looked at me, unsure what to do next. Fighting not to sigh when I realized how long a distance he had to walk to act normal around another person, I stepped up my game by making another suggestion.

“Would you like to sit on the couch with me?”

His brows pulled together in confusion. “Why?”

Shrugging, I answered, “To talk?”

“Talk?”

I nodded.

“About what?”

“I don’t know. About anything.”

He considered it for a second and shook his head. “I’d rather fuck.”

Opening my mouth to immediately dismiss that idea - or at least the way he’d suggested it - I closed it and remembered that Maurice was unaccustomed to how that particular part of a relationship was handled.