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He pushed through a swinging door, and we stepped into a five-star chef’s wet dream. Ridge settled me on a barstool at the kitchen island, then started getting things together for the meal. I found it sexy that he knew his way around the kitchen.
“The idea of having a full staff here, just for me…well, that’s just pretentious, and I enjoy my privacy.” He sent a smoldering look at me over his shoulder, and my core tightened.
Surprise, surprise, annoyance popped up inside me. This time, though, it was because he was down to earth. Why did he have to be that way? Didn’t he understand that I was trying to pinpoint all his faults so I could keep my distance? He made it harder for me to dislike him, and I couldn’t afford that. He was a shifter—a monster like me. I craved something to drive a wedge between us so this fake relationship wouldn’t pose any emotional threat to me when I left this town.
Because that was still happening. It didn’t matter that I was getting a little attached to people. It would be safer for everyone if I left.
I’d have to wait and see what Ridge’s problems were. Since he was a shifter, there was bound to be an endless list. He couldn’t possibly be as annoyingly perfect as he seemed. Nobody was.
Chapter13
Ridge
Tori’s comments about my lack of staff didn’t surprise me. Most people assumed I lived like a king, but nothing could be further from the truth. In my early childhood, when my parents were still alive, the house was full of staff. We always had people accompanying us. Then, when I lived with my uncle and aunt, that lifestyle fell away. My uncle taught me the difference between Blackwoods and other shifters and why it was wrong for us to have so many privileges and flaunt them. It made me realize I didn’t need servants, butlers, or anything of the sort. I was satisfied paying for services to help sustain other people’s businesses.
For me, the real kicker was Tori’s face when she watched me cook dinner. Not many people knew I could cook. It shocked her that I knew my way around my own kitchen. I should have mentioned to her that I did my own grocery shopping, too. I chuckled at the thought. That’d probably make her pass out.
I piled utensils and ingredients on the counter next to the stove. I wasn’t a gourmet chef by any means, but I liked to cook when I was eating at the diner. I found it relaxing. My aunt taught me how to care for myself by showing me how to cook, do my laundry, and clean. She and my uncle were in agreement that I shouldn’t have people taking care of my personal needs. The more self-sufficient I was, the better leader I would become. After all, there was no way to avoid being alpha within my pack. Not with Blackwood as my surname.
Tori needed a nutritious meal. Living the way she had been, I wouldn’t be surprised if she rarely ate healthy meals. She needed to build her strength. I decided on baked chicken, roasted potatoes, and a salad. Nothing fancy, but filling and balanced. Tori offered to help, but I declined. I found I enjoyed cooking and providing for her.
My wolf grumbled—it was a fated mate’s job to provide, and we’d do exactly that. She needed to unwind, and we both had a desire to take care of her.
Wait…what the hell? I shook those thoughts out of my head. Tori couldn’t be my fated mate. Wouldn’t we both have known instantly? It must have been wishful thinking on my part, combined with my desire for her and the overwhelming emotions of the past couple days.
As I cooked, Tori wandered into the adjacent dining room. Her steps echoed back into the kitchen, and I could hear her pausing in front of every portrait on display in there—all of my ancestors. There was also one of me from when I was a child. I was yet to have one commissioned since taking ownership of the manor, as most Blackwoods had done before me.
I waited for one of her cunning retorts about privilege or a dig at shifters, which I found entertaining, though my wolf and I were a little uneasy about that. We liked her sass and feistiness.
She had to still be in shock. Finding a body the way she did, and the fact that it looked like the throat had been ripped out and a shifter had more than likely done it, which she already had issues with...
She was not only being held suspect by the court of public opinion, but she was convinced of her guilt—convinced of her wolf’s guilt. That had to fuck with her mind. I was happy that I could give her a reprieve and bring her to my home for dinner.
“Tori, dinner’s ready,” I called out as I set the table in the kitchen.
She sat at the table, rolling her eyes at my holding out her chair for her.
“Enjoy,” I said with a little grin.
Tori took a bite and muttered, “That’s disappointing.”
Frowning, I looked down at my plate. Lifting a forkful to my nose, I sniffed. It didn’t smell bad, and when I tasted the food, it was fine.
“Is something wrong with it?”
“It’s annoying. The food tastes great. I’m just disappointed that I can’t pick on your cooking skills.” She seemed genuinely upset about it. Her face scrunched up and she scowled at the food as she took another bite.
Laughter erupted from my chest, and it took a while for me to calm down. My response only further annoyed Tori, but I couldn’t help it. Everything about this woman was invigorating.
Most women would have been delighted that a man wanted to cook for her, and even happier that the meal was edible. Tori, though, wanted to find fault with it. I got the feeling she would have been more thrilled if I’d burned the food and she would’ve had to choke it down.
I calmed down enough to eat, then braced myself for how she’d react to what I was about to say. “Tori, you should stay with me until the murder case is over and they catch whoever killed the deputy.”
Tori dropped the fork. “Don’t forget, Ridge, I might actually be the one who killed Phil Hill. I’m still not convinced that it wasn’t me.”
I was about to argue that point, but she steamrolled over me.
“You still haven’t told me what happened last night.” She closed her eyes as if searching her memories for answers. When she finally looked back at me, she continued, “I’m not about to move in with a perfect stranger. And a shifter, at that.”
