She smiles as she begins to chop up an onion. I watch her, wondering how the fuck she does that so well. I’m also wondering if I should really cook for her, because the way she is making that onion her bitch, she clearly knows what she’s doing. And I don’t know shit about shit in the kitchen.
“I don’t expect gourmet, but if you’re going to be here, you’re going to need to do something. As fun as it is for me to cook for you while you stare at me, you’ll have to help out.”
I chuckle. “Well, I can tell you one thing for certain. You’re not getting gourmet if it’s coming from me, babe.”
Her lips curve up into a small smile, and I watch her as she continues. I wonder if I should be a smart-ass and tell her that I’m pretty sure my keeping her safe is doing plenty around here. Me making tacos, Hamburger Helper, and grilling burgers a couple of nights a week isn’t going to do shit.
But I decide against it. Because I kind of want to make something for her. I’m not sure why, but I want to take care of her in every fucking way possible. Since I can’t make her come, I’m going to try to cook her a meal.
I know it’s going to be absolutely fucking terrible since I can’t remember the last time I cooked for even myself. And I’m pretty positive that in my forty years of life, I’ve never cooked for another person.
“I’m a shit cook, babe, but I can try to do something.”
She stops midchop, lifting her gaze. Her eyes find mine, and I watch as her lips curve up into a smile. “I’ll take shit cooking or maybe just grill something. It works for me as long as I don’t have to cook.”
“I’ll do the dishes, too.”
Her eyes widen, and her lips part. “Seriously?” she breathes. “You’ll do dishes?”
I laugh. “Yeah. I might not be good for much, but I can rub some soap on a fucking pan and throw some shit in the dishwasher.”
Lainey’s lips twitch into a smirk, and that’s when I lean over the counter slightly. My eyes are on hers. I’m not sure how it happened, but I feel so fucking much for her. Everything, really. And I shouldn’t feel a goddamn thing.
“I get something from the bakery that you don’t give to the shelter, that’s all I want for payment.”
“I can do that,” she replies softly.
Without saying another word, she turns and walks over to the pan on the stove, carrying the cutting board with the chopped onions. She slides them into the pan, and I listen to them sizzle just before the scent of the onions reaches my nose.
Dinner already smells fucking fantastic.
I don’t even know what she’s making, but it smells great. I’m watching her open a package of ground beef when my phonebuzzes. Shifting my attention from her to the device, I frown at the sight of the number on my screen.
Fuck.
Standing, I slide my thumb across the screen before I lift it to my ear. “Yeah?” I greet.
I don’t want to let Lainey know who’s on the other end of the phone. I’m not sure why I don’t want her to know; it’s not like I’m going to try and get into her panties anytime soon… or ever. So it probably doesn’t matter, but still, I don’t want to purposely hurt her.
“I was wondering if you were coming back over tonight,” she breathes into the phone.
“I can’t,” I murmur. “I’ll try and hit you up in a few days.”
“I’ll be waiting, naked.”
She ends the call, and I flick my gaze up to Lainey, who is still standing with her back to me, her spine straight. She knew exactly what that conversation was about, and as much as I want to explain myself, I decide against it.
She moves around the kitchen, her spine straight, and the conversation between us is completely dead. I give her a few moments to get over her shit. I keep my gaze on her, then clear my throat before I break the silence.
“So I’ll need your schedule. I mean, I’ve been watching you for a while, so I can assume I know it pretty well, but I need you to sync your calendar.”
“Sure,” she quips.
She turns from the stove only to slide her phone across the counter to me. It’s unlocked, and I press my lips together. She’s clearly pissed. I open my mouth to ask her about it, but again, it doesn’t matter, so I stuff that fucking comment down.
After syncing our calendars, I open her email app and scroll through just to make sure everything is safe. But I’m a liar. I’mbeing nosy. There’s nothing of interest in her emails, so I touch the photo app and start to scroll through them.
I’m not sure how long I’m focused on the pictures, but it must be a bit too long because the phone is ripped from my hand, and I flick my gaze up to see Lainey standing in front of me. Her eyes are narrowed, her lips pressed together.