Free Restore Me by J. L. Mac Page B

the stomach thing.”
    “No.” He shakes his head vehemently. “I’m fine,
but I’m hungry and soup isn’t real food.”
    “Um, yes it most definitely is.” I fold my arms
over my chest and scowl at his stubborn ass.
    “I’m hungry, Josephine. I’ve eaten next to
nothing for a week solid. I want food.”
    “So go eat.” I shrug. “Please just eat the damn
soup. It’s really good,” I plead, making sure to use a little
female charm. “There’s yummy bread, too.”
    He gives me zero response, of course, just a
disinterested stare, and stalks past me towards the kitchen. He
walks right up to the pot on the stove and scoops up the soup to
inspect it. What the fuck? I’m being judged? He bends down
and opens a cabinet. After digging through the cabinet, he produces
a dish and ladles out three huge scoops into a mixing bowl .
Then he goes to the fridge and begins pilfering through it.
    “What the hell are you doing?”
    He says nothing as he fishes out a bag of
shredded cheese and covers the top of his soup with at least half
the bag. I watch him with shocked disbelief. He opens yet another
cabinet and snatches up an entire box of soup crackers. He can’t
possibly eat all that.
    “There’s bread,” I remind him, pointing to the
bakery bread and butter on the counter.
    He grabs the entire loaf and the butter dish
from the counter and adds it to his pile of loot, heading back to
his cave without even a second glance in my direction.
    Hemingway’s wet nose nudges against my ankle. I
peek down at him. “Want to have some dinner, little guy?” He sits
pretty and looks up at me with his big brown eyes. “It’s just me
and you. Let’s eat, handsome.”
    I eat my soup alone; ok, with the dog, and clean
the kitchen. I’m amazingly not completely miserable about it,
either. At least I know he’s feeling hungry. Feeling something is a
start, right?
    Hemingway has finished licking his little dish
clean and hops around at my feet. “Okay. Okay. Let’s go outside.” I
scoop up my little guy and sling my bag over my shoulder.
    I give Howard a wave on our way outside. He
smiles curtly as usual. I reach into my bag for Hemingway’s leash
then clip it to his little collar. I walk him around in the small
patch of grass we frequent until he’s ready to go back inside. I
dig out the “Doggie Doodie” bags that I got from that pet store and
clean up after the brat. He loves being outside and always makes
sure to take his sweet time walking around.
    When I open the door to the penthouse, Damon’s
in the foyer looking flushed. “Where are you going?” he demands.
“Are you leaving?”
    I scrunch up my eyebrows and shake my head.
“Nowhere. Hemingway wanted to go out for a walk. We just came back
in.”
    Damon nods, clearly content with my response. I
guess I should’ve told him where I was going. He must have thought
I was leaving again. Shit. I unclip Hemingway’s leash and
set him on the floor. I step in towards Damon, placing my palm on
his sculpted jaw. He closes his pained eyes.
    “I love you, Damon.”
    He doesn’t respond and it hurts like hell. I
know he loves me, even if he doesn’t say it. My hand falls from his
face as he steps away from me, inhaling deeply and running his
hands through his hair. My Big Man is so tormented right now, poor
guy. I just wish I knew how to help him.
    “I’m going to bed, I guess.” I scoop my little
man up from my feet and make my way up the stairs. I kiss
Hemingway’s furry head and put him in his kennel. He flops down in
his plush little dog bed and sighs contentedly. This guy is
living the sweet life.
    Damon disappears into the closet as I head
towards the bathroom. I need a shower and a good night of sleep.
I’m emotionally exhausted from today’s events. I strip my clothes
off and step into the shower. The warm spray soothes my tense
muscles. My head hangs and my shoulders slump. I miss him. My Damon
would be in here with me right now. He has always