Page 17 of Running to You

“You need me to scoop it out for you?”

“I can do it. I just didn’t want to… I mean, it’s not polite to just help myself. Every bite I take is food out of someone else’s mouth.”

His brown eyes narrowed, crinkling at the corners. She didn’t remember those tiny wrinkles. But she liked them. Not the way he was looking at her, though. What had she said wrong?

Before Sam could voice whatever was forming on his lips, Daniel said, “What other mouths, Eliza?”

She looked his way, started to speak. Stopped herself. “I don’t…I don’t know. Just…” What she’d said made no sense. Where had the words come from?

Daniel scooped a giant portion of eggs and plopped it on her plate. “Bacon?”

She shook her head, staring down. Avoiding looking at them. Feeling like a fool.

“It’s okay.” At Sam’s gentle tone, she looked up. He smiled and nodded to her food. “Eat as much as you want. Or as little as you want. There’s no pressure.” He leaned in and added, very low, “You’re safe here.”

A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed it back and lifted her fork, though she wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat with all of them looking at her.

After a moment, their conversation resumed, as carefree as it had been before.

But a dark and forbidding memory niggled on the edge of her consciousness. She’d forgotten something. Something vital. Something that would change everything.

* * *

When breakfast was over, Eliza stood and lifted her plate to take to the kitchen. But Camilla whisked it out of her hands. “You need to learn to be served.” She delivered the flippant words with a wink and a smile, then snatched the other plates and set them on the island.

“I can help.”

“While Sam cleans,” Daniel said, “I’d like to have a look at that wrist and the bump on your head, if that’s all right.” He gestured toward a doorway. “Shall we?”

She looked into the kitchen, where Sam was transferring leftovers into plastic containers.

Camilla dried her hands on a towel and approached. “I’ll come too.”

Leaving Sam to do the work alone. Which felt wrong. Not just wrong, but…almost frightening.

Daniel stood by the door, reading her as if her strange thoughts were written on her forehead.

She passed him, entering the living room. It looked different in the daytime. A white couch was flanked by two chairs on each side, all oriented toward a stone fireplace, which rose two stories. Like the rest of the house, it was beautifully decorated. And unfamiliar. And it didn’t seem like…Sam.

Eliza sat where she’d been the night before, and Daniel sat on the coffee table opposite her.

Camilla settled on a chair, out of the way.

Daniel unwound the bandage from her wrist and had her move it this way and that. “How’s it feel?”

“It aches, but it’s not bad. Better than last night.”

“Good, good. It’s not swollen. Let’s keep this on for now. Hopefully, it’ll be even better tomorrow.” He rewrapped it, then felt the bump at the back of her head. “That’s a doozie.” He sat back. “How’s the pain on a scale of one to ten?”

“Most of the time, six.”

“When is it worse?”

“In bright lights, though that’s better than it was last night. Mostly, when I try to remember what happened.” Just saying the words made her brain throb. She pressed her fingertips against her temples until it passed.

“Hmm. Okay.” He touched the bruise beneath her eye, not enough to hurt, though. “I’m afraid this is going to look worse before it looks better.”

“I’ll need to come up with a good story.”