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“Your girl?” I ask as he makes his way back to the pan, a smile tugging at my lips as he none too discreetly rearranges himself.
“Well, I didn’t bring you here to bin you off the second we get back into the city,” he shoots over his shoulder. “Sit down,” he demands when he discovers I’m still standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen.
“I-I can make coffee,” I offer.
“Sit down, Demon. Do as you’re told.”
I salute him, much to his amusement. “Sure thing, boss.” I swear to God he tenses at my final word, but he covers it so quickly I start to wonder if I imagined it.
Hopping up onto one of the bar stools, I watch him as he works.
“You know your way around a kitchen then, huh?”
“Did you think I was one of those rich kids who had everything done for them?”
I stare at him, a frown forming on my brow. “I… uh… Honestly, I haven’t really thought anything. Your money or status or whatever hasn’t really featured all that high on my list of concerns.”
“So you’re really not impressed by my car,” he deadpans.
“I’m really, really not. This place, though… you’re getting close to impressing me.”
He laughs, reaching into the cupboard to grab some plates.
“It’s good to know the level I need to reach in order to do so. The Maldives next time, maybe,” he mutters lightly.
“So, who taught you to cook?” I ask, going back to the beginning of this conversation. I have no intention of talking about money or what he can or cannot afford. It’s meaningless to me. I’d much prefer to get to the real him. “Your housekeeper?” I joke lightly when he doesn’t respond straight away.
My eyes follow him as he moves, cracking a couple of eggs into fancy poaching pouches, and I can’t help but notice the way his shoulders tighten.
“I taught myself, actually.”
“Oh?” I ask, needing more details.
“Our… uh… housekeeper and cook stopped providing me with meals when I was a teenager.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I blurt.
“It’s nothing. Bullshit from my past. You don’t need the details.”
“Like hell I don’t,” I spit, a little harsher than I intended, making his steps falter as he moves to the coffee machine. “I’m your girl, remember?” I say a little softer.
“I know but… my past, my childhood… most of it isn’t pretty.” I grab his hand after he delivers my coffee, stopping him from retreating.
“That may be true, Toby. But it’s a part of you. And I’m not scared of the dark parts.” I know they’re there. I see the shadows in his eyes that I’m pretty sure he thinks he hides.
“You should be, Jodie. If you saw the truth, you wouldn’t be here right now.”
“Bullshit,” I hiss, tugging him closer, spinning the stool so I can capture his legs with mine. Reaching up, I take his sore face in my hands. “There’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be right now than here with you.”
He stares at me, his eyes searching mine for something I’m not sure he’s going to find. The fact that he’s found anything worthwhile within me right now is a miracle when I feel like I’m going to shatter at any moment.
“Baby,” he whispers, resting his head against mine. He sucks in a sharp breath as if he’s about to say something earth-shattering, but the ring of a timer fills the kitchen, and with a sigh, he backs away.
“Better not ruin my rep as a chef before we’ve even started.”
His eyes remain on me as he moves back toward the stove, our connection holding as he allows me to see just a few more of the dark parts of his soul. I might not know the details, or even the reason why they’re there. But I recognise the pain. It blends with mine and makes me wonder if it would be easier to fight if we went up against it all together.
I stay quiet, lost in my own head, just watching him as he plates up our breakfast and brings it over.
