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Refusing to give in to the worries that have swarmed me for weeks, I notice the time on my watch and reach into the fridge, wanting to prepare something for dinner. It’ll feed my mind and keep me occupied, while also feeding the hunger building inside of me.
I place the ingredients to the side before going on the hunt for the pots and pans I need. It takes a few tries, but I eventually find the right cupboard. Taking stock of what I have, I opt to make barbecue chicken, with dauphinoise potatoes and green beans.
Setting everything into motion, the process comes naturally to me, the rest of the world forgotten as the food cooks. Once everything is going perfectly and there’s nothing more for me to do, I move over to the bag Elsie gave Benji as we were leaving. Having a snoop inside, I notice she filled it with vanilla cupcakes that hadn’t been decorated yet, along with some cinnamon rolls and chocolate twist pastries that just need baking.
I place them in the fridge, so we can have them in the morning, before having a look through the cupboards to see if I can find any baking ingredients that will allow me to finish off decorating the cupcakes. To my utter joy, there’s an entire cupboard stocked with everything I could need.
A smile washes over my face, and it feels calming; a real jolt of happiness I haven’t felt in forever. It’s not forced, not a façade I’m putting on. It’s raw, and it’s me. I’m just glad I still have it in me.
Swiping my thumb around the edge of the last cupcake, I catch the tidy smudge of icing before setting it down next to the rest. Dragging the excess sweetness over my tongue, I dance to no music, shaking my hips as I make my way over to the oven, ready for the chicken and potatoes to be done.
I’m so lost in my happy dance, I don’t grab the hot pad fully, so when I reach for the oven tray, moving to place it on the countertop, my finger burns against the hot metal.
“Fuck,” I grunt, dropping it onto the counter with a clang as I wave my hand around like a lunatic.
Scanning my eyes over the food, I make sure I haven’t ruined anything, and only then do I move for the sink behind me. No sooner have I turned the cold water on and shoved my finger underneath the spray does Benji come running in like a man on a mission.
I freeze in place, captured by his sleepy eyes and tense jaw as he assesses the scene before him. He rakes his eyes over me, making sure I’m okay, but my cock definitely doesn’t read it like that and I have to adjust how I’m standing so he can’t see what a fucking crazy, horny teenager I look like. I’m twenty-five years old. I should have a better handle on myself than this, but nope, not when it comes to him, apparently. It’s like my dick doesn’t realize the fucking circumstances we’re in.
“I’m sorry I startled you, I just burned my finger on the oven tray. I’ll be fine in a second,” I mumble, trying not to let embarrassment grip me once more.
I expect him to nod and trudge back off, but to my surprise he edges closer, concern written all over his face as he reaches for my hand, keeping it under the running water. “Are you alright?” he asks, but I can’t respond. I can’t find my tongue with him holding my hand delicately like he is.
It’s fucking with my emotions, with my mind. What is wrong with me?
“I-I’m fine, nothing I haven’t done a million times before,” I eventually mutter, unable to tear my gaze from his deep brown eyes. He nods in understanding, but doesn’t release his hold on me, and the two of us remain in place, his hand holding mine as we peer into each other's souls.
I have no idea how much time passes, my heart pounding so wildly I’m sure it’s going to explode from my chest at any moment, before he clears his throat, taking a step back and dropping my hand.
Fuck, that was intense.
“What smells so good in here?” His eyes turn to the food on the counter top, before they track to where the cupcakes rest, freshly iced, and his eyes widen with excitement. “Please tell me I get to eat all of this food, because I think I might die if you say no.”
I frown at him with a chuckle, shutting off the water and flexing my burned finger. “Of course, it’s for the both of us. I wouldn’t just cook for myself, you crazy man,” I say with an eye roll, and the smile on his face spreads from ear to ear.
“Thank God you can do all of this because I was about to make us some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” he replies, flinging open a few cupboard doors until he finds some plates and sets them down on the countertop. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of his sandwich and I make a yak sound, making him quirk an eyebrow at me. “What? You would love my PB&J supreme.”
“No, no I wouldn’t.” I shake my head as my nose crinkles in disgust. “I have never, and will never, understand that sandwich. Give me a grilled cheese any day instead, or you know, anything else in existence.”
He laughs at me, his shoulders shaking with amusement as his eyes dance with mischief. “Then it’s definitely a good thing you excel at this,” he reiterates, and a sense of pride washes over me.
I’ve always loved cooking and baking. It’s my safe place, my happy zone, but it always warms my heart when someone compliments me on it. Let’s just hope it tastes as good as it smells and he enjoys it.
Grabbing the serving spoon, I offer it out to him and he takes it without question, plating up for the two of us as I set the dining table. “What do you want to drink?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder as I lay down the knives and forks. My heart jolts when I find he’s paused what he’s doing and fixed his eyes on me.
It takes him a second to realize I’m talking to him, but he doesn’t shy away or act bashful or apologetic, he just brings his gaze to mine, the heat unbearable as he smirks. “I’ll grab a bottle of water from the fridge in a minute.”
It’s bizarre as fuck. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I met this man, a man here to protect me from someone trying to have me killed, and I’ve somehow felt my heart leap more times in this short time span than the rest of my life put together.
He’s surreal, intriguing, and a whole heap of trouble.
As he brings the plates over to the table, I grab us both a bottle of water, and the two of us take seats across from one another as a comfortable silence falls over the room. We’re both far too hungry at the moment to do anything other than eat.
My first bite makes my taste buds sing with joy, but the groan of pleasure that slips from Benji’s mouth makes my cock solid, no semi or half-mast pitching here. He has my dick’s full attention.
“How the fuck do you know how to make this shit taste so good?” he asks before shoving another bite into his mouth.
My mouth tilts up at the corner, my stomach warming at the praise as I answer. “I went to culinary school, and this is honestly not that hard to make.”
