“I didn’t peg you as someone who cooks,” I said finally, just to fill the air.
Cameron glanced over his shoulder, grinning. “I didn’t peg you as someone who keeps alphabetised spice jars, but here we are.” He coughed. “Okay, I lied. The spice jars were no surprise whatsoever.” A pause. “Unless they belong to your aunt?”
I blinked. “They’re mine, and they’re organised by flavour profile, not alphabet.”
He smirked. “Somehow that’s worse.”
My lips twitched. “You’re mocking me in my own kitchen.”
“Yeah, but I’m doing it with affection.” Cameron turned back to the pan. “And I think you’ll live.”
I leaned back in my chair, trying to look at the screen again, but my gaze kept sliding right back to Cameron. There was something about the way he moved, the ease, the quiet concentration, that made the room feel smaller.
Cameron stirred the sauce, tasted it, and frowned thoughtfully. “Needs more heat.”
I swallowed hard. “Don’t we all,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
He turned, his head tilted. “Did you say something?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Just—work.”
Cameron smiled as if he didn’t believe me but let it go. “Come over here and try it.” I walked over to him, and Cameron held out a spoon coated in sauce. “Let me know what you think.” He slid the spoon between my lips, his gaze focused there.
Heat crawled over my skin, and it had nothing to do with the sauce.
I swallowed. “It tastes good,” I said in a low voice.
Cameron smiled. “Then I’ll leave it alone.”
I went back to the laptop, conscious of being watched.
Something has changed.
Either it was my imagination, or Cameron was a little bolder, more flirtatious.
Sexier.
And infinitely more dangerous.
Cameron placed two glasses filled with water on the coffee table.
“This is your five-minute alarm call. Save whatever you’re working on because you arenotgoing to work and eat at the same time. You’ll only give yourself indigestion.” Cameron grimaced. “Oh God. I’m channelling my mum. Kill me now.”
I couldn’t hold back my smile. “And doing it really well. I could almost hear her.”
He gave me a mock glare. “You really don’t want your dessert, do you? Because the wayyou’regoing, I’m about to head out to the nearest pet shop to buy a dog, just so I can feed it your dessert.”
I mimed zipping my lips, then went to shut everything down.
When dinner was ready, Cameron set two plates on the coffee table. “Eat before it gets cold.” He sat on the sofa, a cushion on his knee, the plate nestled in it.
I joined him, awkwardly aware of how intimate the simple act felt: two plates, two glasses, the kind of shared quiet that didn’t belong to roommates.
The first bite stopped me. “This is really good.”
Cameron’s grin was pure satisfaction. “See? Magic. And you don’t need to sound so surprised. I’ve been looking after myself for a few years now.” He preened. “I can perform all sorts of useful tasks: use a washing machine, operate a Dyson, dust…” He pulled a face. “Except that last one usually makes me sneeze. Dust allergy.”
“Then I’ll do the dusting.”