A slight smile softens her lips. “Maybe.” She nudges her food around, bare hands so pretty, posture so perfect, wife so precious. “I don’t know if I could handle you normal, though.”
I perk. “You wouldn’t want that?”
“It’d probably make me feel too guilty about the whole trying to kill you for a hot minute there thing.”
“Understandable. Trying to kill a perfectly normal person is dreadful. I suppose for your sake, then, I’ll remain quite firmly at least a galaxy apart from my rocker.”
“I appreciate it.”
We eat a few bites together in an amicable silence I swear feels practically warm, then I try my luck. “Dove?”
Her head droops, and she gathers a mouthful of noodles on her chopsticks. Before I can so much as request it, she spears the things toward me and refuses to watch, even as red highlights her ear.
Blazing, I move to accept the offering, taking it directly from her chopsticks. The moment I have, she leaves her seat, opensher cabinet, and tosses the plastic pair in a bath of vinegar before getting another identically white set.
Covering my mouth, I chew through my smile and swallow. “I’d have half a mind to be offended if it weren’t so good. You’re an outstanding cook.”
She, primly, regains her seat and says, “Don’t lie to me. You’ve barely got a quarter of a mind to work with in the best of times.”
My lips hook up. “What makes it so spicy?”
“Red pepper.”
“I was talking about you.”
Her dry gaze slices through me, and she says, “Thinning patience.”
I love this. I cannot express how deeply I love this. “Dove?”
Her gaze softens, if fractionally, and she holds mine.
“Next week, will you cook for me?” I ask.
“You’ll probably need to source your own protein since your body wouldn’t be accustomed to my diet, and you likely get more on average than I’ve come to need.”
“I don’t want you to get sick, crow,” I translate for her.
“If you get sick, we will not be in association for several weeks.”
I think I’m going to have to never get sick again in my life. I say, “I can bring protein supplements.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
Using her fresh chopsticks, she lifts a triangle piece of tofu and bites off the corner. “Okay, I’ll cook for you.” She blows on the piece as steam wafts from it. “And if you’re very, very good…I won’t even add poison.”
Chapter Twenty-three
?
And if I die? So what.
Azalea
It was a trap. And I really should have known better than to think it wouldn’t be. Ofcourseit was a trap. A stupid, stinky, rotten, horribletrap.
Twitching, I glare at Malcolm, regretting my decision to return to my usual seat in the center of my island. Something about sitting on the leftmost side was beginning to wear on me, so I convinced myself that since there are only three stools at my bar counter, moving back to the center would still leave plenty of space between us.
