I picked off the edge of my sandwich and played with the bread as I prompted him to talk. “Tell me about you. Not finishing school and getting married is really the only thing that’s been going on with me since we last talked.”
I didn’t miss the way his eyes didn’t leave where my fingers were playing with the bread, or the way his face hardened when I turned everything around onto him. “Uh, I finished school. Went through fire academy, work for the department in Richland now.”
“Really?” I asked, a genuine smile crossing my face for the first time in years.
“Yeah. Was doing that the last year of school, so I’ve been there awhile now. I actually just finished a shift and was grabbing coffee before I headed back to Thatch.”
“That’s great, Knox!”
He flashed a smile at me, and nodded at my sandwich. “Actually eat it, Harlow.”
I took a bite for his benefit, and chewed slowly. “What else?”
“Keep eating,” he said softly. The words sounding like a cross between a plea and command. “I’ll talk if you eat.”
Panic gripped at my chest when I understood the worry in his eyes. He noticed the difference in my weight. It was different for my family, watching it gradually come off. Knox was seeing it all at once, and if the way his eyes kept anxiously darting over my body was anything to judge by, it was obvious that I looked drastically different. Trying to act like I didn’t have a clue about what he was seeing, or that I knew what he was doing, I rolled my eyes and took another large bite.
“There isn’t much else. I work a lot; that takes up the majority of my time. I live with Graham and Deacon. They haven’t changed much, either.”
I laughed uneasily at the reminder of his best friends. “Ah. I’m sure those two were happy to have me out of your life.”
Knox’s eyes darted quickly to mine, then down to the table. A few moments of uneasy silence passed between us before he said, “They know not to mention you.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. I simply said, “Oh,” and tried to change the subject. I figured he wasn’t married if he was living with the guys, so I asked, “Girlfriend? Fiancée?”
He laughed softly. “No. I’m not the kind of guy to let things get serious now. I can hardly even stand to see a girl more than once. For years I didn’t know why that was, until I just walked into the coffee shop and saw you sitting there—and all of it finally made sense.”
I didn’t want to think of the other women. Focusing on his last words, I said, “Knox . . . we haven’t even talked in years.”
“I know, Low, trust me; I know. But I had every intention of spending the rest of my life with you. Just because you weren’t waiting for me in the end, doesn’t mean everything I’d been waiting for and feeling for you could just stop.”
My stomach and chest tightened, and I wanted to tell him that everything had changed for me. My feelings for Knox had multiplied over the years. I pressed my lips into a firm line to keep myself from saying things to him that would only cause Knox and me pain, and my family possibly their lives.
My head shook slowly back and forth. “This was a mistake,” I said, and started to stand, but he caught my wrist.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry; I’ll stop. Please don’t leave yet.”
I pulled until he released my wrist. “I’m sorry, Knox. I can’t stay—”
“Are you sick?” he asked suddenly, his tone grave.
My head jerked back to look at him and my mouth opened as I stood there in confusion. “Sick? No, I just have to go.”
Knox’s dark eyes moved around the bakery before pleading with me. “Sit.”
I shakily sat back in the chair as I tried to figure out what this pained expression on his face, and his question, could mean.
“Are you sick?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t look at me like you don’t know why I’m asking.”
“But I—”
“Your wedding ring is barely staying on your finger. You’re drowning in a shirt that looks like it’s meant to cling to your body.”
My heart skipped a painful beat and I fell against the back of the chair, wincing when it hit a sore spot.
Knox’s observations didn’t stop. “I was afraid I would break your wrist just by touching it. Your collarbones and cheekbones are sticking out way too far. You’re pale, Low, and the circles under your eyes are so dark.” He leaned forward to rest his hand on top of mine. “Low, are you sick?”
“No,” I answered honestly, but the word came out sounding like a horrified confession as I worried about what this would lead to.
The relief that filled his dark eyes was only there for a brief second before his entire frame tightened. “Are you—do you have an eating disorder?”
I needed to stop his questions before this could continue. Hardening my eyes at the man I’d missed, loved, craved, and ached for, I stood and gritted, “I don’t, but after almost five years of not seeing you, Knox, I’m glad to know you now find me repulsive.”