AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh, pish. If you’re not making a mess, you’re not cooking properly,” Esme said right as the potato slipped out of her hand and went shooting across the kitchen like a cannonball.
A screaming meow made me jump, and I turned just in time to see Winston’s paws hit the floor. The potato had come to rest against the wall behind him, and his claws scratched against the stone tiles as he did an about turn, skidded into the doorframe, and bolted into the hallway like there was a firework up his little kitty arse.
“Where the hell did he come from?” I asked, looking around while I stifled a laugh. “How did he get in?”
“I let him in,” Esme said brightly, turning back to the potatoes.
Oh.
Okay, then.
“Are you not going to pick that potato up?” Max asked, pointing his knife in the direction of it.
“No,” she replied, picking up another one to cut. “Are those beans done yet?”
“Who’s in charge of this? You or Ellie?”
Esme turned to me with her eyebrows raised. “Ellie is.”
I nodded, looking back at him. “Are the beans done yet?”
“This is a trap,” he muttered, grabbing a plastic bowl to sweep the diced beans into. “A bloody trap.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ELLIE
When A Man Loves A Cat
“So,” Esme said, leaning forwards. “How much for you to move in and cook for me for the rest of my life?”
Max pressed his hand against his face, covering his eyes.
I blushed, dipping my chin slightly.
“I’m not kidding,” she warned, slipping a small bit of salmon under the table to where I knew for a fact Winston was sitting in the hope that someone would do just that.
Never mind me moving in.
I wasn’t sure I’d be able to take Winston back to London at this rate. He was in love with Esme.
Judging by the fact his head popped up above the table from Max’s lap, he loved him, too.
Max looked down at the cat. “Hello, there.”
“Like you didn’t know that great lump of a cat was on your lap,” I muttered.
“He just hopped up.” Max scratched the back of his head, and Winston tilted his head back, closing his eyes appreciatively.
I shook my head. “I can’t believe you kicked up such a fuss about him when I first got here. Look at you. You’re practically married over there.”
“Fuss is a strong word,” Max said.
“Strong word for a strong reaction,” Esme said, getting up. She began collecting the plates and cutlery, and when I stood up to help, she shot me a look that had me sitting right back down again. “You cooked. I will clean.”
“But I—”
“Ah.” She held up a finger, cutting me off. “Do not argue with me.”
