Page 84 of Feeding Hope
He climbed down as Constance helped the woman fill out the needs sheet, then worked with her to put together a box. No rush. No judgment. Just steady reassurance. When the woman finally headed for the door, arms full and her boys trailing behind, Frost stepped in without thinking.
“Let me carry that to your car, miss,” he said, already taking the box from her hands.
The woman’s relief was immediate.
As the door closed behind them, the room erupted in quiet coos and not-so-subtle sighs. Constance rolled her eyes, laughing, though the warmth spreading through her chest betrayed her. When she glanced up, she caught the smirk on Cipher’s face—sharp, knowing. She turned toward the door and looked out into the parking lot.
Frost had set the box down and was crouched now, joking with the two little boys. One of them mimicked his stance, puffing out his chest. Frost laughed, ruffling the kid’s hair before turning back to the mother, his expression calm and attentive.
Constance’s breath caught.
He’d make a good role model,she thought.Strong. Patient. Present.
A good provider.
The thought landed harder than she expected, jealousy flaring sharp and sudden. She frowned at herself. She didn’t know anything about his life—whether he was married, taken,or already spoken for—and yet the ache was there, low and unwelcome.
Outside, Frost glanced back toward the door. For half a second, his eyes met hers through the glass.
Something unspoken passed between them—recognition, maybe. Curiosity. He gave her the smallest nod, respectful and deliberate, before turning back to the woman and her children. Constance stepped away from the door, pulse unsteady.
With a quiet sigh, she returned to the boxes, carrying with her the warmth…and the dangerous awareness that whatever this was, it hadn’t gone unnoticed by either of them.
Constance forced herself to focus on the boxes in front of her, but her hands moved a little slower now, her thoughts far from where she was. She could still feel the weight of his gaze like a lingering touch between them.
She found it unsettling, how easily he was slipping past her defenses without even trying.
Men like Frost didn’t normally notice women like her. Older, past the years of childbearing. And the was why she needed to remember where she stood. She had her place, her work, most of all herself.
The bell over the door chimed again, and this time Frost stepped back inside alone. She didn’t look up right away; she didn’t because she didn’t trust herself. The sound of his boots crossing the floor even made her nervous. The sound unhurried in his confidence as he stopped close enough that she could feel him standing next to her before she saw him.
“You good?” He asked. Concern on his face and in his voice.
Constance finally met his eyes nodding, as she stared into them. “Absolutely.”
It was far from the truth, but with the way his gaze lingered on her she knew he didn’t believe her.
Frost watched her longer than he should have until she turned back to her work. The way she squared her shoulders he recognized it instantly when someone was retreating, putting duty between themselves and anything that might complicate their lives.
He admired it, even respected it. Still, it didn’t stop the pull. Certainly didn’t stop the quiet settling in his gut as he thought she was someone worth slowing down for.
Later when the door was locked and only Frost and Constance remained, he helped organize boxes for the next day. The entire time they moved around each other. Hands touching each other’s arms or backs as they passed one another on the narrow aisles.
With the silence pressing in on her, Constance finally spoke. “Is there a Mrs. Frost?”
Frost stilled, then shifted, settling his hip against the edge of the table. His gaze never left her. “No,” he said simply. “There’s no one in my life.”
She nodded, tapping her finger lightly against the tabletop. “You told me you were married,” he added easily, not accusing—just stating.
Constance turned, mirroring him as she leaned back against the table. “Technically, I never said I was married,” she replied with a small shrug. “You assumed my car was my husband’s. It wasn’t. And isn’t.”
Frost’s brow creased slightly, waiting.
“I’ve been a widow for three years,” she said quietly.
Something shifted in his expression—softened. Respectful. He let the weight of that truth settle before speaking again.
“Then,” he said, measured but sure, “now that that’s cleared up… would you like to have dinner with me?”
