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“Nope. I got it.”
“I want to help.”
His lips curving up, Mitch said, “I left the herbs on the porch. You can grab them.”
Ducking his head so Mitch wouldn’t be able to read his face and know how pleased he was about something as silly as plants, Simon said, “Oh, you found some? Okay,” and went out front. Sure enough, there were tiny pots with oregano, thyme, mint, cilantro, and marjoram. He squatted down, looked at each one, pressed his nose close to it, and inhaled its scent, before moving on to the next one.
“They smell great, don’t they?” Mitch’s deep voice rumbled from behind him.
“Not as good as you, but—” He froze. Had he said that out loud? He thought about how good Mitch smelled so often that the idea of it no longer took him off guard. But speaking the words was something else entirely.
“You smell good to me too.” Mitch’s footsteps sounded and then the big man was looming over him. “It’s part of being mates.”
Mitch said a version of that statement a few times each day. Simon didn’t known if he was reminding Simon of what he believed they were to each other or if he simply liked hearing it. The softening of Mitch’s expression whenever he uttered the word ‘mate’ made Simon suspect it was the latter, so he didn’t correct Mitch by telling him that he’d enjoy his spicy, earthy scent regardless of whether or not Mother Nature had destined them for each other. The same was true for the shiver that went down his spine when Mitch spoke to him in a tone that was deeper and more gravely than his regular voice. And when Mitch’s gaze heated. And when Mitch smiled. The bottom line was that Simon liked an endless number of things about Mitch, mate or not.
Before he embarrassed himself further by putting voice to the hero-worship he’d developed, Simon changed the topic. “It’ll be fun to see if we can taste a difference in the food when I use fresh herbs instead of dried.” He began gathering the little pots.
“You love experimenting, don’t you?” Mitch hunched down, grabbed the remaining herbs, and straightened up. “It’s like I’m living with a scientist, and I get to be the lucky guinea pig.” Suddenly, his grin turned into a frown.
Fairly sure he knew the reason for the change in attitude, Simon bumped his shoulder against Mitch and said, “Don’t worry. Nobody would mistake you for a prey animal.”
Mitch grunted.
“Look at that,” Simon teased. “I can read your mind.”
With another grunt, Mitch tipped his chin toward the door, telling Simon to go ahead of him, as usual.
During Simon’s first few days at the cabin, the action had disconcerted him because it required turning his back to a potential threat. Once he could no longer muster any genuine concern about his safety, he worried Mitch walked behind him to guard him, which meant he considered him a weakling rather than an equal. But now he saw it as yet another example of Mitch caring for him and, though he’d never admit it to anyone and he even tried denying it to himself, he enjoyed the care, safety, and protectiveness Mitch freely gave.
“Are you hungry?” Simon asked as he walked into the cabin.
“Uh-huh.”
“Good. I made lunch.
“You know you don’t have to cook every meal, right?”
“I know.” Simon shrugged. “But I like doing it.” They walked into the kitchen and Simon reached for the rolls in the breadbox. “We’re having chicken salad.”
He put a sandwich on Mitch’s plate, added a handful of potato chips, and set it on the table before working on his own meal.
“What do you want to drink?” Mitch asked.
“Water.”
Before long, he was sitting across from Mitch, who was chewing his food and moaning. “This is so good.”
Ducking his head, Simon said, “I put grapes in it.”
“Grapes?” Mitch took another bite. “I never would have thought of that and I love grapes.”
“I know you do.” His cheeks heating, Simon started eating his sandwich in the hope that having his mouth full would keep him from talking.
“You’re a natural caretaker.”
Simon looked up at the sound of Mitch’s rough whisper. Black eyes peered at him, and Mitch’s large hand was inches from his.
“It’s just lunch,” he said, glancing down at Mitch’s hand, back up at his face, and then at his hand again.
With his gaze glued to Simon’s face, Mitch slowly flipped his hand over, palm up, fingertips a hair’s distance from Simon’s plate. The message was as clear as if Mitch had spoken it and just as innocent.
Simon reminded himself that he had nothing to fear and then, hoping the trembling he felt wasn’t visible, he put his right palm on top of Mitch’s left one.
Immediately, Mitch curled his fingers around Simon’s hand and squeezed him gently. “The nursery where I got the herbs said we can plant them outside in the spring and they’ll grow well.”
