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Really, I was a different person inside these walls than I was anywhere else.
“I haven’t been avoiding you.” I kicked off my shoes, leaving them in the doorway. I had to admit it was a liberating not to care. “We’ve been busy with wedding things. Crafting and such.”
“Tell me you made a life-sized papier mâché Henry I can beat the shit out of with a stick.”
A laugh bubbled out of me before I could catch it.
I hated that he was so funny. I really did.
“You eat yet?” he asked. “I think I’ve got enough for two.” He gestured to the big stock pot with a sideways smile on his lips.
“That would be lovely. Is there time to change? I’m a little...” I held up my arms, looking down at my wet clothes.
“Soaked. And yeah, you have time.”
“Thank you,” I said, padding toward my bedroom and closing the door behind me.
The smell of whatever was in that pot had my mouth watering. I hadn’t eaten since lunch, and though I’d told everyone I’d been looking forward to my takeaway dinner, the truth was I woke up to find Remy had already eaten it. My plan had been to scrounge around for some bread and meat, though I had my doubts as to the contents of his refrigerator. So to discover there was a hot meal waiting delighted me, even if it meant I had to share a meal with the one man I desperately needed to avoid.
Bocephus stared cross-eyed from his chair in my room as I dug through my drawers for something comfortable, settling on a tan lounge set I’d packed for just such an occasion. I was glad to have all my clothes back from the dry cleaner—and with only minimal damage, keeping Beau off the hook. Once I was in the wide-legged pants and tank, I slipped on the matching cardi and took a moment in the mirror to address my hair. While Cass had taught me the art of the messy bun, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I twisted it into a chignon with a little less chaos, binding it with a hair tie.
Since I was starving, I decided it to be well enough and made my way back to the kitchen.
Remy stood at the island with a mixing bowl steadied in one hand and a whisk in the other. When he saw me, the whisk came to a stop, his eyes sliding down, then up, ending with a slight shake of his head.
“Can we call a truce for tonight?” he asked, eyes on the batter in his bowl.
“Of course.”
“Good. Close your cardigan because I can’t sit through an entire meal with your nipples that hard.”
I rolled my lips to stop myself from smiling, gathering the sides of my sweater and wrapping them around me.
“It wasn’t intentional, I swear,” I said, taking a seat at one of two barstools opposite him.
“I’d rather assume you were in there perking them up for me, if it’s all right by you.”
“Does it really matter if it’s all right by me?”
He considered. “Probably too late for that, if I’m honest.”
“That is perhaps your best quality—honesty. You only have to choose to use it for good rather than evil.”
“Never,” he said with that devilish smile of his.
“Also the unadulterated truth.” I smiled despite myself. “What are you making?”
“Cornbread.”
I must have looked confused.
“Sorta like...polenta?” He poured the mix into a greased cast-iron skillet and turned to put it in the oven. “This,” he started, picking up his spoon to stir the contents of the pot, “is red beans, and there’s rice in that smaller pot over there.”
“It smells divine. I must say, I’m shocked to learn you cook.”
“Well, you do know I love to shock you.”
“And you excel at it.”
