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But if I’d anticipated any intimacy to grow from that, it couldn’t when he was in another city.
So, if I’d known him well, I’d have followed him into the bathroom, but I didn’t. I hovered, awkwardly taking a seat on the steamer trunk, before huffing and returning to the kitchen.
The sauce was still simmering, and it actually looked nice. I just wasn’t convinced about the anchovies in there as a base which was, apparently, the traditional way, but I’d never tasted any fishy ragu before.
Another huff, and I boiled the water, then set some pasta to cooking.
By the time it was al dente and not mushy—I was pretty proud of that feat—Eoghan was strolling into the kitchen looking far too scrumptious for my own good.
Jesus.
He wore boxer briefs.
That was it.
Boxer briefs.
Dear Lord.
Every single muscle was on display, from his eight pack to his faintly hairy calves. I mean, they weren’t like a werewolf hairy, but just faintly prickled with it. He didn’t have a hairy back like Father, which I was so beyond grateful for, too, when he twisted around slightly to grab the towel around his neck and dry off his still wet face before looping it over his head once more.
“What are you doing?”
I scowled at him. “Thought you were smart.”
His lips twitched. “I also thought you couldn’t cook.”
“I can learn, can’t I?”
“It smells like fish and ragu.”
I rolled my eyes. “I followed the recipe.”
“I really need to introduce you to Aoife.”
“Finn’s wife?”
He nodded. “She has her own bakery and is a really good cook. She can teach you.”
I stabbed the wooden spoon I’d used to stir the ragu in the air at him. “You haven’t tasted this yet. It might be good.”
“Might being the operative word. Anyway, Winnie can cook for us. She should have left things in the fridge…”
She had.
Winnie was still treating me like I was scum, and I guessed, to her, I was.
Maybe she wouldn’t spit in Eoghan’s food, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
Apparently, Eoghan was better at reading my emotions more than I thought, because, soft enough to tell me he’d read between the lines, he murmured, “Ah. I’ll talk to her.”
There wasn’t much aggression in his voice, which told me he’d be kind but firm, so I jerked a shoulder. “I get it. I’m the enemy still. I have to prove myself.”
“You won’t do that until you have a child,” he replied flatly. “And I don’t want one. Not yet anyway. Maybe not for years.”
My brows rose. “Really?”
“You’re still, I’m very much aware, part child yourself.” His mouth tightened. “Ma had issues from having kids so young. I won’t put you through that.”
