I narrow my eyes. “A personal chef? That…sounds good.”
“It is good,” he whispers, his gaze softening, and for a few seconds silence falls between us. We just…stare at each other and then he clears his throat, breaking the spell. “When you’re with me, it’s not hard to quiet my mind. Not at all.”
“Your mind?”
He nods, looking down at our intertwined hands. “When I’m alone, all these thoughts…they just loop over and over and it’s loud. Telling me I’m not good enough for you, not good enough for anyone I care about. And it’s so damn hard not to believe it, because sometimes it is loud, and I’m stuck in a bed with nothing to distract me. Just me…against myself.” He gives me a weak smile. “But when you come…when you show up, it’s peaceful in here. I feel like I can actually be someone. When
