Dev knew he’d sat through more uncomfortable dinners, but none of them came to mind as Charlie took her plate to the sink. She was worried about Nima, but there were other reasons for tonight’s issues.
The lab, the keypad and a feeling of unspoken things between them.
We’ve been dating over a month—of course we don’t know everything about each other.
Still, she’d looked at him several times and he’d thought there was something on the tip of her tongue. A request for something?
He shook his head; he needed to put that worry away. Yes, everyone asked him for things, but Charlie didn’t. Except, she had. Something minor. Inconsequential, yet Dev couldn’t push it from his mind.
“You alright?” Charlie was leaning against the sink, her eyes trained on him.
“Sure. Why?”
“You just shook your head. If I was a domestic vet, I’d make sure you didn’t have an ear infection.” She smiled, but there was a look in her eyes. Like she was waiting for something.
Something bad.
“Did you ever consider treating domestic pets?” He knew about her injury. Understood her purpose, but it was primarily dogs and cats one saw through vet school.
“No.” Her fingers ran along her waist, tracing the scars underneath. “I wanted big cats. I knew going in that it meant more study. Though I had a professor try very hard to convince me there was no purpose.”
“Did he recommend zoology?” He’d had a few people suggest that.
“No.” Charlie went to the fridge and pulled out a carton of ice cream. “He told me it would be too much work to start my own rescue. That I’d need at least five years of additional training. That as a woman, big cats might be overpowering.” She put the ice cream on the counter and grabbed two bowls.
“That’s awful.”
Charlie shrugged. “It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it. Wasn’t the last, either. People judge women. And having been a public figure, because of my mom, they judge me in different ways. It is what it is.” She looked over her shoulder, her hair falling over one eye. “You want one scoop or two?”
“Charlie, that isn’t fair.”
“Sorry. Three scoops?” She waved the ice cream scooper.
“You know that isn’t what I meant.” She was good at deflection—he had to give her that.
“I know. But I learned to do my best to ignore it. And to keep the things I don’t want judged, hidden. Since you won’t answer…it’s two scoops. No complaining.” She set the bowl in front of him before sliding into her chair with her own and pulling her legs up.
“What kinds of things do you keep hidden?” He wanted to know. Wanted her confidence. Wanted all of her.
“If I told you, they wouldn’t be hidden.” Her mouth closed over the spoon, the air between them shifting.
He wanted to push. Wanted her to tell him, but if she didn’t want to… What did that mean for them?
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