Page 163 of Fly's Path

“Try. Even if it’s just an hour, I’d like to see you tonight.”

“You’d be happy with just an hour?”

“An hour spent with you would never be a sacrifice.”

“Flatterer. I’m going now. Thanks for running with me.”

“See you soon, My Royal Highness.”

“Stop flirting, or I’ll never go.”

“Promise?”

Promises were made to be broken, My Prince. “I’ve really got to go. Have a nice day.”

“You too—”

I click off before he can say another thing that would turn my heart into mush. This man is determined to make me fall in love with him. Doesn’t he get how much it’s going to hurt when I walk away?

Tears start forming in the corner of my eyes…

Go shower.

Get yourself together before you talk to people.

“Sheridan, you're back.” Dahlia walks out of the kitchen in an apron and the cutest pajama set. It has rainbows and teddy bears.

“Yeah, I’m just going to go take a shower. When do we need to leave?”

“Why don’t you come eat? Everything is fresh and hot.”

It smells amazing. “I’m not hungry.” That’s such a lie. My suitcase pantry is hitting rock bottom. I need to find twenty minutes to run down to the corner market and grab something, or that pit in my stomach is going to be larger than normal.

“After your run, you’re not hungry at all?”

“No.” I’m starving, but I can’t eat your food. So just please let me go eat my last toaster pastry in peace.

My stomach rumbles loud enough to wake up the neighborhood.

“You aren’t hungry?” Dahlia’s hand goes to her hip. “Come with me now. We’re going to have a conversation, or I’m going to call all the women, and we’re going to have an intervention. Your choice.”

An intervention? Why? “Dahlia—”

“Choose now.”

“I don’t know why you would call them for an intervention because I’m not hungry.” My stomach growls again and starts to gnaw at me.

Dahlia walks over and places a hand on my arm. “Please come talk to me. I understand. I started to go through the same thing.”

How? Was Dahlia poor when she was younger? I thought she was always upper-middle class? “Um, I don’t know—”

“Come on, we’re going to talk.” She takes my hand and pulls me into the kitchen. “Sit down. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”

What I would like to do is fill my face with the smorgasbord you set up on the counter, like it is a lovely decoration, not just food needed to keep a person from starving.

My stomach pulls hard back to my spine, grumbling about the hunger pangs it’s enduring.

You’ve been hungry before more times than you can count. This is just one more time.