shrugged, wondered if he would even understand if she explained to him, and then decided to get it over as quickly as possible. There weren’t many people she told her whole story to, and she wasn’t entirely sure why she was telling a man she was in the process of dumping as soon as he finished her food.
“I’m an orphan.” His quick flash of surprise was gone almost before she caught it. “I don’t know who my parents are. I was abandoned in the toilets of a hospital. Placed in a paper toweling basket and simply…left.” She glanced at him to check his reaction.
He was still chewing, but he circled his knife in an invitation for her to continue. She puffed out a breath and wondered why she was putting herself through the heartache. After all, he only appeared to be vaguely interested, as though she were reading the newspaper to him, not pouring out her life story.
The air shuddered through her lungs as she drew it in again, and he raised his hand to give a light touch to her cheek and draw her hair back from her face. It was all she needed for the floodgates of her life history to fly open. She took a nibble of the food still in her hand and found herself talking easily while she ate.
“I was going to be adopted, but I cried so much. The people who took me hadn’t had a baby before, so they didn’t know why I was crying. They gave me back. I never understood. Why would you give a baby back if you’d been desperate to have one in the first place? Did I cry because they were stressed, or were they stressed because I cried?” She forked some coleslaw into her mouth, stared ahead, and continued.
“Anyway, I had several different sets of ‘parents’, none of them totally committed. Some of them tried their best, but no one wanted to adopt me. It was always temporary and in between, I spent a lot of time in a children’s home. I was very disruptive. I wanted people to like me.” She gave him a sideways glance to check if he was laughing, but apart from continuing to eat, he sat with an attentive stillness.
“I was barely five when they picked up signs of me being brighter than average. I was fostered by a professional couple. Two psychologists who sent me to a good school, a boarding school, and I shone. But when I returned to them in the holidays, I was too disruptive. You see, I wanted them to love me, so I did lots of stupid things to get their attention. But I gather they didn’t want a child, just a charity case. So after a while, I was sent back to the home, and I applied myself to studying, and so it continued until I was eighteen, back and forward to foster carers. I was too intelligent and I had too many qualifications and people were scared of me. I realized they had all been scared of me, all along. Being different scares people.”
She raised her head and stared at him. His hand stroked the scarring on his face, but as he seemed to realize what he was doing, he removed his fingers slowly.
“So, you put on an act to get people to like you?”
She hadn’t known what to expect from him, although probably not sympathy. It wasn’t in his nature, but the cool, clear perusal of his eyes made her feel like one of her studies under the microscope.
“No. I don’t think of it as an act. It’s my personality to be…” She waved her hand in the air and he pointed his knife, his voice soft and cool.
“Vivacious, lively, cheerful, effervescent. But why? Why do you need people to like you?”
She tucked her knees up and rested her chin on them, wrapping her arms around her legs and hugging them tight, unable to look at him for fear of seeing his contempt when she said it.
“Because no one ever did.”
His warm, tender arms pulled her in to rest against his solid chest, bumping the Stetson off her head to rattle for a while before coming to rest on the ground beside Flynn.
She hadn’t realized she was crying until the wet from her tears soaked through his shirt. She pushed away, determined
“I’m an orphan.” His quick flash of surprise was gone almost before she caught it. “I don’t know who my parents are. I was abandoned in the toilets of a hospital. Placed in a paper toweling basket and simply…left.” She glanced at him to check his reaction.
He was still chewing, but he circled his knife in an invitation for her to continue. She puffed out a breath and wondered why she was putting herself through the heartache. After all, he only appeared to be vaguely interested, as though she were reading the newspaper to him, not pouring out her life story.
The air shuddered through her lungs as she drew it in again, and he raised his hand to give a light touch to her cheek and draw her hair back from her face. It was all she needed for the floodgates of her life history to fly open. She took a nibble of the food still in her hand and found herself talking easily while she ate.
“I was going to be adopted, but I cried so much. The people who took me hadn’t had a baby before, so they didn’t know why I was crying. They gave me back. I never understood. Why would you give a baby back if you’d been desperate to have one in the first place? Did I cry because they were stressed, or were they stressed because I cried?” She forked some coleslaw into her mouth, stared ahead, and continued.
“Anyway, I had several different sets of ‘parents’, none of them totally committed. Some of them tried their best, but no one wanted to adopt me. It was always temporary and in between, I spent a lot of time in a children’s home. I was very disruptive. I wanted people to like me.” She gave him a sideways glance to check if he was laughing, but apart from continuing to eat, he sat with an attentive stillness.
“I was barely five when they picked up signs of me being brighter than average. I was fostered by a professional couple. Two psychologists who sent me to a good school, a boarding school, and I shone. But when I returned to them in the holidays, I was too disruptive. You see, I wanted them to love me, so I did lots of stupid things to get their attention. But I gather they didn’t want a child, just a charity case. So after a while, I was sent back to the home, and I applied myself to studying, and so it continued until I was eighteen, back and forward to foster carers. I was too intelligent and I had too many qualifications and people were scared of me. I realized they had all been scared of me, all along. Being different scares people.”
She raised her head and stared at him. His hand stroked the scarring on his face, but as he seemed to realize what he was doing, he removed his fingers slowly.
“So, you put on an act to get people to like you?”
She hadn’t known what to expect from him, although probably not sympathy. It wasn’t in his nature, but the cool, clear perusal of his eyes made her feel like one of her studies under the microscope.
“No. I don’t think of it as an act. It’s my personality to be…” She waved her hand in the air and he pointed his knife, his voice soft and cool.
“Vivacious, lively, cheerful, effervescent. But why? Why do you need people to like you?”
She tucked her knees up and rested her chin on them, wrapping her arms around her legs and hugging them tight, unable to look at him for fear of seeing his contempt when she said it.
“Because no one ever did.”
His warm, tender arms pulled her in to rest against his solid chest, bumping the Stetson off her head to rattle for a while before coming to rest on the ground beside Flynn.
She hadn’t realized she was crying until the wet from her tears soaked through his shirt. She pushed away, determined
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