“So I’ve been told.”
She mutters something under her breath, but I catch a smile there. “Fine. But I’ll dry, and there’s nothing you can say to me that’ll make me change my mind.”
“I’m starting to learn that about you.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m a Taurus. We’re stubborn by nature. The stars command it.”
I shake my head and suppress a snort. I want to tell her again she doesn’t need to do anything, but then she settles next to me. Her warmth seeps into my side. I can smell my shampoo in her hair.
Without a word, I start handing her the dishes.
She grins in victory and grabs a towel. “Told you. Taurus power.”
I don’t argue with that. If she wants to stand next to me, shoulder brushing mine every few seconds, I’m not going to stop her.
The two of us side by side feels strange. Good. Quiet in a way that settles deep. She hands me a plate, I wash, she dries. Simple. Ordinary. Something normal people do without thinking.
But I’m not a normal person. At least that’s what I think. I’ve emptied bullets into the hearts of men, but I have never done this. I steal a glance. This moment feels special.
I rinse a pan; she reaches for it and bumps my elbow.
“Sorry,” she says, cheeks a little flushed.
“Relax,” I tell her. “I don’t bite.”
Her eyes flick up. “You definitely bite.”
I pause, water running over my hand. “Do I?”
She realizes what she said and goes pink from the neck up. “I meant—you seem like you could. In a metaphorical way. Not—never mind.”
I smirk. “Noted.”
She tries to hide her face behind a plate. It doesn’t work.
Domestic. That’s what this is. And it shouldn’t feel this easy. It shouldn’t make something in my chest go warm and tight. I shouldn’t like the way she hums under her breath while she dries the silverware, or the way she nudges my hip with hers when I take too long rinsing a pot.
But I do. When it comes to my kitten, there’s nothing she could do I wouldn’t like.
When the last dish is done, I shut off the water and pull out a small bottle from my pocket.
Savannah frowns. “What’s that?”
“Your pills,” I say.
She stiffens. “Riccardo?—”
“Yes?”
“You can’t just—these are expensive. And you don’t even know how long I’ll be here, or what happens next, and if I get used to taking them?—”
“You’re taking them,” I say, calm and final.
She shakes her head. “I don’t want to depend on something I won’t afford when I leave.”
“You’re not thinking straight.”Because you’re never leaving,I want to add, but the thought of scaring her off makes my jaw click shut instead.
“I’m thinking exactly straight,” she says, voice tight. “I can’t let myself rely on anything I can’t keep.”
