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I couldn’t bring myself to think of it as home. Home is no more.

Clambering out of the car, I was jittery and full of nervous energy, as I hadn’t been for my usual walk. Or maybe it was because I was anxious to get started on the decorating.

Anything to occupy my mind.

I stood at the tail waiting while Dylan got out of the car.

“You’re keen,” he noted dryly as he opened the boot.

“It’s either this or another long walk.”

Dylan handed me three of the shopping bags and grabbed another three. I hung back as he unlocked and opened the door so I wouldn’t hear the offensive alarm.

“Lunch first. I’m starving,” he said when I came in. Ignoring him, I took the bags straight upstairs to the back room. The moment I opened the door, I felt more at ease.

Dumping the bags in the middle of the floor, I spun around as I thought about what I would paint.

Dylan entered with the other three bags. “Emily, lunch first.” He sounded irritated.

“I’m really not hungry.”

His lips pressed into a hard line, and I sensed his growing annoyance. “There must be something you’d like.”

I shook my head.

Dylan, I don’t want to eat. I can’t get food past the grief locked in my throat. Don’t you understand?

“Please,” he implored. The plea in his voice was disarming. “You have to eat!” he cried, surprising me.

“I’ll have some soup, then,” I mumbled, floored by anguished Dylan.

He narrowed his startling blue eyes. “Not very filling. But,” he continued hastily, “if that’s all you’ll eat, I’ll go with that.” His shoulders slumped in disappointment.

Numb took a swift step sideways and I felt… guilty.

“What would you like me to eat?” I asked, still shocked by his outburst.

“Food, Emily. Something substantial. Please.”

“I’ll eat whatever you want me to eat.”

“You will?”

Oh hell, he sounded so hopeful.

“Yes.”

“Okay. Thank you.” He blew out a breath of relief.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head in exasperation. “And you don’t have to apologize. Like it or not, Emily, you and I will have to learn to rub along together.” He gazed down at me, his eyes brimming with compassion and kindness, or so it seemed, as if he were trying to convey some sort of message.

What is he trying to say?

He raised his hand, and for a moment, I thought he was going to stroke my cheek. But then, maybe embarrassed, he decided against it and he turned and left the room.

Realizing I’d been holding my breath, I exhaled. Who would have thought that Doctor Dyl felt so passionate about mealtimes?