Chapter 51

Chapter 51:

“He looked at you like a man who remembers you crying,” Dallas corrected. “I don’t like men who have memories of you that I don’t p>

Eliza felt the heat rise in her face. He wasn’t just being protective.

He was jealous.

Dinner arrived with the clatter of a cart.

A nurse placed a tray on the rolling table and swung it over Eliza’s lap. “Soft foods only for the next twenty-four hours,” she instructed. “Your throat is still swollen p>

The tray held a bowl of beige, watery oatmeal and a cup of green jello. It looked deeply depressing.

Eliza picked up her spoon and took a few careful bites. Tasteless, but warm. After five spoonfuls, she set the spoon down.

“I can’t finish,” she sighed, pushing the tray away. “It hurts to swallow p>

Dallas was watching her from the chair. He hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before.

𝘉𝘦 𝘁𝘩𝘦 f𝗶𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝖾𝘢𝘥 𝗼𝘯

“You need calories,” he said.

“I can’t,” she said.

Dallas stood, pulled the tray toward himself, and picked up her spoon. The one she had just used.

“Dallas! That’s mine — germs!” Eliza reached out to stop him.

Dallas looked at her. The corner of his mouth moved — not quite amusement, something more like resolve. He was breaking one of his own rigid rules, and he was doing it deliberately.

“We shared breath yesterday, Eliza. I blew air from my lungs into yours. A spoon is nothing p>

He ate the oatmeal. Calmly, efficiently, using her spoon, working through her leftovers. Each bite was a quiet statement — a methodical dismantling of the professional distance between them.

Eliza watched him. It was such an intimate, domestic thing. Husbands ate their wives’ leftovers. It was the kind of unremarkable act that only happened between people who belonged to each other.

It felt too real. Too married.

Panic rose in her chest. The walls were crumbling, and she needed them back.

“Dallas, we should review the contract,” she said, keeping her voice even.

Dallas paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. He lowered it slowly. “Now p>

“Yes,” she said, her voice betraying a slight tremor. “This caretaking. The hospital bills. The ambulance. None of it is in the agreement. I don’t want to accrue extra obligations. We should itemize everything p>

Dallas set the spoon down. The clatter against the plastic tray was sharp in the silence.

His eyes went cold. The warmth from the shared meal evaporated.

“Fees?” he asked quietly. “You think this is billable hours p>

“Isn’t it?” Eliza said, the lie tasting bitter. She was desperate — desperate to protect her heart from the dangerous business of hoping. “Everything is business with you. I’m an asset. You’re protecting your investment p>

Dallas studied her for a long moment. He looked at her trembling hands. He saw the fear hiding behind the defiance.

He stood abruptly and crossed to his coat, hanging on the back of the door. Eliza’s heart dropped. She had pushed too far. He was leaving.

He rummaged in the pocket and came back to the bed, tossing a small paper bag onto the sheets.

Organic gummy bears.