I wish I could sew this well. She did such beautiful work.
I choose a soft, rose-colored dress with a simple cut and decide that I should get used to living here, and using Jess and Talon’s things.
It isn’t sacrilege—it’s honor. I’m sure they would rather I inherit their things than anyone else.
After I shower and change, I head back to the kitchen and am surprised to find delicious smells drifting down the hallway. I enter the room with interest, shocked to find Shawn happily whistling away as he sets the table.
“Hey!” he says, his eyes lingering on me just a little.
It’s the dress, not me. Anyone would look good in this dress.
“You’ve been busy,” I reply, sitting down at the table.
“Yeah,” he says. “I found enough to work with. No milk, but plenty of eggs, and some fruit and veggies in the garden. The chickens had gotten into the greenhouse.”
“Oh!” I gasp, shocked. “The poor things. I didn’t think to check on them after Talon died.”
“Oh, they’re all doing fine,” Shawn says. “They’re roosting in the hanging baskets, and they completely demolished whole sections of the garden. The auto waterer is still recycling, so they had fresh water every day.”
“I’ll have to sort out their coop,” I say, feeling terrible about forgetting the poor little creatures.
“Oh, I think they’re fine,” Shawn says. “There was a mountain of eggs in the bushes near the door.”
I crack a little smile. “That makes me feel a bit better, but not much.”
“Well,” Shawn says, grinning as he puts a big pan down in front of me. “Our meal has been effectively chosen by the good ladies of Talon’s flock. Evidently, they don’t like tomatoes, spinach, or onions, so that’s what we’ve got in our omelet.”
“It looks amazing,” I answer, looking at the food with astonishment.
I’ve never, ever seen a man cook before. Not even Talon.
“I made dessert, too!” Shawn says proudly. “There was some stale bread in the cupboard, and the chickens obviously don’t like rhubarb, either, so I made rhubarb bread pudding. It’s better with milk and butter, but it’s still very good without.”
I’m so shocked, I literally don’t know what to say. When I take a bite of the omelet and realize it’s the best I’ve ever had, I’m even more speechless.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“It’s very good,” I answer. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“Oh, when I was out on missions, I’d often have to make do with whatever I could find. It taught me to be creative.”
Missions?
I stare at him for a moment, and he blinks, looking a little flustered.
“I mean, I’ve been on a mission to be a self-sufficient bachelor.”
I can feel the lie in his voice, and I’m suspicious, but I also have a strong instinct that I shouldn’t go near this topic.
Any goodwill that was starting to build towards him has scattered like hayseed on the wind. What the fuck is this dude hiding?
We finish the food in silence, and I can’t help but appreciate how good it is, even if the good mood between us has now been broken. He doesn’t try to talk, and I keep my eyes down. When we finish, I expect him to make me clean up, but he goes straight to the sink and washes up immediately.
This can’t be real. He’s just putting on a good show for now, and as soon as we’re married, I’ll be his slave.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I could use some sleep,” he says, drying his hands as he turns around. “The master bedroom is big enough for both of us, isn’t it?”
Here it is! I knew it!
