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Leaving me on my own.
“And you?” Clark inquires during his approach. “Have you spoken to young Miss Winters since your…disagreement?”
Spoken to?
No.
Heard from?
Also, no.
Reached out to?
That’s…still a no.
But I shouldn’t have to.
She was the one who told me not to speak to her.
She was the one who walked out of the room rather than continued to have a civilized conversation with me.
Although, civilized may be a bit of a stretch.
Clark politely places the dish down on the edge of my desk and all knowingly states, “I see.”
“There is nothing to see,” I defensively bite back. “And you can take that away.” Pushing the object back towards him is done in extended defiance. “I’m not hungry.”
“According to the kitchen staff as well as Penny, you haven’t eaten since you last spoke to her.”
“I’m not hungry.”
He tips his chin to the dish. “Eat.”
“I said-”
“Weston,” Clark fatherly chomps, “this is not a conversation. It is in instruction, young sir.” The finger point to the plate is less than casual. “Eat.”
Shrinking into myself can’t be helped.
Nor can the gurgling of my empty stomach.
While there isn’t a day that passes by that I don’t miss my parents, I am thankful I still have two in many ways.
“Fine.” Reaching over, I grab one of the potato chips from the dish and lift it into the air to be seen before shoving it into my mouth. “Done.”
“You are your father’s son.”
The proclamation pierces my brow tightly together in wordless question.
“Your pride may win you arguments; however, it will lose you love.”
An unforeseen ache suddenly begins in the center of my chest.
Grows upward.
Swells around my neck.
Love is not something I envisioned myself having again, yet now that I have it or…something similar to it, I loathe the idea of letting it go.
