“Because I am, though it’s a hell of a request, someone wanting to come in as a mail-order manservant,” he admitted. “It’s been a while since anyone’s offered to cook for me.”
He winked when he said it, and I’d have flipped him off in return if I hadn’t had that swing in my hands.
“You want me to cook for you?” I asked, snickering at the horrified look that crossed his face when he realized he’d walked himself into a potential trap. “Okay, how about I try meatloaf again? I promise I’ll cook the rice before I mix it in this time.”
“No.”
“Okay, then what about the green-chili enchiladas? Those were decent.”
He shuddered in revulsion, lips wrinkling as his nose scrunched up.
“Wylde, when a recipe calls for green chilis, it is not meant to be taken as encouragement to go out and buy whatever uber-hot green chili you happened to find,” he replied as we placed the swing where it wouldn’t be in the way as we set up the support beams.
“That was a complete misunderstanding,” I said, waving at the air between us as he reached for a wrench. “Could have happened to anyone.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Chuckling, I just shrugged. “In all fairness, serranos and jalapeñosaregreen.”
“Please don’t ever mention serranos and enchiladas in the same conversation again.”
“Fine, forget the enchiladas. How about I just whip us up a batch of burgers?” I asked, deliberately needling him now.
I knew I was a disaster in the kitchen; I couldn’t even cook over a campfire and was a downright menace when I tried to grill, even while using tin foil to ensure that the meat didn’t end up crumbling and landing on the coals instead of our plates. The fact that he knew it too and had been the victim of some of those culinary misadventures, meant that my teasing threats about cooking carried much more weight.
“And craft a repeat of the worst food poisoning I’ve ever had in my life?” he replied. “No thanks, I’ll pass. If you never try to cook again, it will be too soon. Just accept it, Wylde, cooking is not your strong point. Luckily, we have two weeks of home-cooked meals to look forward to according to the background information we were given.”
“I’m good with getting two weeks to play house with you.”
“How is it getting to ‘play house’ when we already live together?”
Tsking, I just smirked over at him. “There you go killing my fun again.”
“Consider it lucky I don’t back over it with a bulldozer,” he threatened. “I already told you I wasn’t in the mood this morning.”
“And why is that?” I asked as we screwed together the support pieces of the bench swing we were building.
“I’ve got four words for you. See if you can figure out why I might be upset about them.” He paused and waited until our gazes locked before he added, “Bull and Barrel Bash.”
Busted.
Shit.
“It’s just a flyer,” I muttered.
“With a registration form on the back.”
“Probably makes it easier for folks.”
“That you filled out,” he snapped, glaring across the wood at me.
“Okay, but I haven’t sent it in yet.”
“You filled out the check for the registration,” he remarked.
Yeah, he had me there. Weaseling out of this wasn’t going to work. When he scowled at me with disappointment in his eyes and that stern gaze that always sent shivers through me, I knew he was truly unhappy.
“Just tell me why,” Thorin asked.