Flawlessly Broken: (Broken Series Book 2) by Anna Paige Page B

head was down, eyes a million miles away as his fingers lightly traced the tiny embossed envelope meant for my lost daughter. The sight caused the chasm in my chest to widen painfully, threatening to swallow me whole.
    I turned back to the stove without comment, afraid my voice would betray me as I began making toast to accompany our breakfast.
    He exhaled a long breath, expelling his melancholy. “Besides, this weekend has been nothing if not interesting.” He waited for me to look over at him and smiled. “And I’m glad to have helped, even if only a little.”
    That damn smile of his was going to melt the butter. Among other things.
    “You’ve been amazingly helpful and patient. I can’t thank you enough. For the help and for not ratting me out to Ali.” I widened my eyes in mock fear. “Especially for not ratting me out. If you’d ever seen her on the war path, you’d understand.”
    He grinned. “I’ve gotten a small sampling of what it must be like. It was my pleasure to see that you were spared the full extent of her wrath.”
    “Actually, to be honest, she takes it easier on me than she would anyone else. She might have fussed a little, but then she would have let it go. I’m not sure whether to be flattered that she favors me or angry that she doesn’t treat me the same as everyone else.” I pulled the casserole from the oven a split second before the timer dinged and set about making our plates.
    Once I was satisfied with the presentation, I placed Spencer’s in front of him and joined him at the counter.
    He thanked me and dug in almost immediately. Poor guy. I’d kept him so busy that he hadn’t eaten in forever.
    After making a sizable dent in his breakfast, he turned his penetrating gaze on me and quietly asked, “Does everyone do that? Tiptoe around you like Ali does?”
    The question caught me off guard and I gaped at him for a minute. Once I had a chance to really contemplate what he was asking, I nodded once. “I suppose so. I don’t think they mean anything by it. It’s probably not even intentional, they just don’t know how to treat me anymore. The people at the restaurant don’t know about Amelia, so they have no reason to walk on eggshells but everyone who knows... Yeah.”
    “Maybe that’s why you like your job so much. No one there knows your history so they aren’t afraid of doing something to upset you.”
    He said it so matter-of-fact, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
    Cue open-mouthed gape.
    Shit.
    He was right.
    How did he know that after two days and I hadn’t figured it out in four years?
    He must have seen the question on my face because he said, “My sister is a psychiatrist and her love of psychoanalyzing people rubbed off over the years. Clay hates it. Drives him crazy.” He shrugged helplessly. “It’s a curse.”
    “You’re good, I’ll give you that. It never occurred to me, not once,” I admitted.
    He turned his chair sideways, facing me fully for the first time. His eyes searched my face for something, but I was too enthralled to care. God, his eyes were inky black and seemed to pull you into them like they had their own gravity. I actually leaned toward him a bit before catching myself.
    “You don’t need to be treated as if you’re made of glass. You need someone who knows your secrets and losses but doesn’t view any of it as weakness or fragility.” He reached out and took my hand, his thumb running gently across the back. “You’re too strong a woman to allow yourself to be handled with kid gloves. They’re wrong to do that to you. You’re not broken, sweetheart, and you never will be. You’re absolutely perfect just the way you are.”
    Damn it. I hated to be called perfect. Truly hated it. He couldn’t have been expected to know that, though.
    I withdrew my hand and swiped at my cheek, brushing back my hair. “Maybe you’re right. Everyone will lighten up eventually.” I needed a subject change. I eyed his