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“Uh, hi.”
“I could have been an axe murderer,” he told her.
“Oh, was that one of your life goals? You know . . . you probably would have been really good at it. Although I don’t know that an axe is a good weapon. You’d have to stand awfully close to your victim to kill them, and then your dry cleaning bill would be massive. Ooh, unless you could throw the axe. That might be a possibility for you. You look like you’d be a good axe thrower.”
“And what does a good axe thrower look like?” he asked.
She grinned, her eyes dancing and he decided he liked her this way. Carefree. Just having fun.
“You, of course.”
He groaned, shaking his head. “I walked right into that too, didn’t I?”
She giggled.
He shook his head and walked over with the bags of groceries.
“These are your groceries.”
“Um, groceries?” She frowned in confusion. “I didn’t order any groceries.”
“You need them. Your cupboards are bare.”
“Yeah, I know. I don’t really cook, though. So I don’t need food.”
“You don’t cook?” He glanced down pointedly at the batter she was pouring into baking pans. The house smelled delicious. Like vanilla and sugar.
“This isn’t cooking, it’s baking. There’s a difference.”
“You still need to eat.” He started unpacking the grocery bags.
“I know. That’s why take-out was invented. And cupcakes!” She held one up. “Want one? This is a new flavor I’ve been working on. I’ve already taste-tested too many.” She rubbed her tummy.
“You’ve given yourself a tummy ache?”
“Um. Maybe just a small one. Try it?”
“Don’t usually eat sweet things,” he said. “For you, I’ll make an exception.”
He wondered if she understood the double meaning.
The way her eyes widened, he thought she did. Instead of taking the cupcake from her hand, he leaned forward and bit into it, his eyes on her.
He swallowed as she watched, entranced.
“Delicious,” he said.
“It’s . . . it’s Mexican hot chocolate flavor. There’s a bit of a zing of heat.”
“I like a bit of spice.”
She swallowed heavily. “Sure. Right. Uh-huh.”
“But no more cupcakes for you,” he told her. “You need to eat some real food.”
She looked tired. And every so often, she’d rub at her neck as though it was hurting her.
“Sore?”
