She quickly pulled her shirt down to cover the rolls of her stomach.
Her hand hovered over one of her rooks but then she rubbed her fingertips across her palm, dropped her hand back to the table. Sneaked a look toward the window then toward the door. Nothing. No one.
Lowering her head as if she was deep in thought over the chessboard, she glanced at that plate of cookies. They were tempting her. Taunting her. She swallowed. She wasn’t hungry. Or at least, she shouldn’t be hungry. She’d eaten a late lunch and two cookies.
Plus a couple of spoonfuls of dough when Pops hadn’t been looking.
No. She shouldn’t be hungry. But she was. She really was, even though Grandma Gerry said that sometimes when people think they’re hungry, they’re really thirsty and should drink a big glass of water.
But Bree didn’t want a glass of water. She wanted a cookie.
Her eyes on the chessboard, she picked up a cookie and bit into it, her face heating when a tiny moan escaped. Luckily, Pops didn’t seem to notice. He was on his feet once again, this time putting the dirty pans in the sink.
Well, it deserved a moan, she told herself as she polished off the cookie in another two bites. It was good—sweet and chewy with melting chocolate.
So good, she took another one. Then another, eating them quickly, her shoulders rounded, her back turned slightly so Pops wouldn’t see.
And she felt better. Not so empty. Not so sad. But then she noticed the crumbs on her shirt, the chocolate smeared on her fingers, and she got queasy. Her eyes pricked with tears. Which was stupid. It was only a few cookies. It wasn’t as if she killed someone. Besides, all of her friends could eat dozens of cookies without worrying about their pants being tight or someone looking at them funny, as if they shouldn’t ever put anything in their mouths except celery sticks and plain lettuce.
“Breanne.”
She jumped and whirled around, her fingers curled tightly in her lap.
Pops frowned at her. “Aren’t you going to answer me?”
“Uh...sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
“I asked if you had your overnight bag packed.”
Nodding, she moved a pawn only to immediately regret it.
“That wasn’t a smart move, girlie,” he said with a tsk. Then, instead of giving her a second chance or having a bit of mercy on her, he captured her bishop. Pops never let her win. She had to earn it. He sent her one of his long, searching looks over the top of his glasses. “And you’re a smart girl.”
Her lower lip quivered. She bit it. Hard. She was smart. Didn’t everyone always say so? She was smart and nice and polite. And she had such a pretty face.
Which was what people said to fat girls.
She really, really wanted another cookie.
Breanne jumped up and stepped away from the table. “I guess maybe I do forfeit this game,” she said, hating that she couldn’t even think straight just because her dad was coming to get her.
But she never knew how to act around him. What he wanted from her.
Crossing her arms, she rolled her eyes. Except, deep down, she did know what he wanted. For her to disappear. To get out of his life forever. To never have been born in the first place.
Too bad for him, none of those things were possible.
He’d have to settle for waiting until she turned eighteen so he wouldn’t have to spend time with her anymore.
“Tell you what,” Pops said, using the fake, cheerful tone he always used when he was trying to make her feel better about something. “How about I move the board to a safe spot? We can finish the next time you come over.”
“Okay,” she mumbled, feeling silly and sick from nerves and that last cookie. “I guess I’ll go wait on the porch.”
Pops looked as if he wanted to say something else, but just nodded and held out his arms.
She practically jumped into them, felt like a baby as she held on tight. She rested her head on Pops’s shoulder—easy enough to do as she was almost his height.
She wasn’t tall like her mom or skinny like Aunt Fay. She was short and round with thighs that rubbed together when she walked and a belly that jiggled when she ran.
She resembled Santa Claus more than anyone she was actually related to.
But for a moment, being hugged by Pops, it didn’t matter that she was the slowest person on her soccer team or that