As soon as he picked up, Kelsey’s soft voice drifted into the car.
“Tucker… my stomach hurts again.”
“I don’t want to eat Delia’s cooking. She only makes dishes that my sister likes… Could you make something for me yourself?”
I saw it clearly—Tucker’s expression softened instantly, even his voice turning gentler.
“If your stomach hurts, don’t force yourself to eat things you don’t like.”
“I’ll go buy groceries now and cook something good for you. Okay? Be good and wait at home.”
After hanging up, he finally seemed to remember that I was still sitting in the passenger seat.
He turned to me, his tone settling back into calm neutrality.
“Honey, just take a cab back to your place later. I need to go buy some groceries.”
It felt like a huge hand clenched tightly around my heart, squeezing the air right out of me.
All the things I wanted to say jammed in my throat and, in the end, turned into a weak, bitter smile.
I stared at Tucker for a long time, genuinely shocked that a man who’d never lifted a finger at home actually knew how to cook.
He must’ve sensed something because he reached over and rubbed my head, explaining.