Chef makes us grilled chicken, roasted cauliflower, and caesar salads for dinner. At first, it sounds incredibly boring. I've also never eaten cauliflower before. It has a weird name and it looks like white broccoli... not interested.

But when he brings it out, it's got bits of parmesan and chili flakes and it might be my favorite thing he's made me so far. We eat dinner in the kitchen. Not Chef's kitchen, but the one upstairs. There's a little table and booth that's tucked in the corner.

If we eat together, we normally eat in bed. It's kind of my sanctuary. My hideout. I think it's his too. It's the only place he gets privacy. Everyone always needs something from him. Even tonight when we ate, four people came up to ask him questions.

When Logo came up, my eyes gave him a warning. Better it came from me than Wulf. His stare looked like he was going to actually remove his head from his body.

I spear a bite of cauliflower off his plate and he looks at me like I've gone crazy. Then he takes a piece of my chicken. "Now we're even," he tells me.

My phone dings and it's a text from my dad. U doin ok

He texts in his own style. No punctuation. I know it's a question though.

I type and delete. Then type and delete. I want to tell him I'm doing good. He won't get it though. I don't blame him... it sounds crazy.

"What are you going to say?" Wulf looks down at me.

I snatch my phone back, holding it to my chest. "Don't read over my shoulder."

He just waits calmly for my answer. Dark eyes watching my movements. My breathing feels labored for some reason.

"I don't know," I say, looking at my picked over plate.

"Are you happy here?" This time he sounds expectant. Almost pleading for a positive response.

"Honestly?" I look at him and I can tell he's breathing a little harder waiting for me to answer. "I didn't think I could be so happy here."

He doesn't smile. He doesn't respond. His eyes just rove the curve of my face, searching me for truth. Whatever he sees, he must believe because he says, "come on. I've got something I want to show you."

We wind through the house, getting stopped every few feet by prospects and members. Entering the bedroom he looks at me eagerly. Well, it's eager for him. His face is stoic like always, but I can see it in his eyes. I look around. Everything looks...the same.

"What's going on?" I ask, turning to face him.

He leads me to a folder laying on the bed. The University of Tampa is printed across the top. Flipping it open, it's full of information on the campus.

No. It's full of information welcoming me to the campus.

"This is a private school," I laugh, closing the folder.

"You don't want to go here?" he frowns.

"I mean sure. I'd like to go to Costa Rica too. But it's not in the cards."

"Why not?" he puts his hands on my hips, the folder still out between us.

I fucking hate that he's even making me say it. "Look, I appreciate you pulling some strings to get me in here. But I'm not going to school. I can't afford it. At least I can't right now. Maybe if I could get my job back at Wal-Mart I can save and next semester I can go." Saving would be so much easier here, I can just stuff my entire paycheck down into that little coffee can and watch it fill up.

"Baby, you aren't working at Wal-Mart," he says, plucking the folder from my hand. "Don't worry about your tuition."

"Don't worry about my tuition? What am I supposed to do? Just go to class and hope they don't catch me?" I'm laughing at how ridiculous it is until I realize what he's saying. "Oh," I say furrowing my brow. My eyes snap up to his.

He looks down at me, expression still stoic, eyes still so expressive. "Why are you doing this?" I whisper.

He wraps his big arms around me and I let him pull me in. "Because," he says, stroking my hair, "how did it feel when you bought those clothes for your nephew?"

I sigh, remembering that it felt really fucking good. "I get it. It feels good to do something nice for someone."

"Someone you care about," he says and my heart flips.

Someone you love.