One bite and I close my eyes in its delicious taste.
“Kelly is so good at making food.”
“She is. But she sucks at baking.”
“I can relate to that. I don’t know how to bake. I’ve tried but I always mess up.” I take a bite. “But I made great pasta yesterday.”
Heath’s eyes drift up to meet mine as he dives a spoonful into his mouth. The gesture isn’t sexy at all, but it makes my stomach tighten.
“You should have brought some for me,” he says softly.
Surprise hits me so hard, my mind goes blank.
He wants to eat something I make.
Butterflies take a joyful lap inside my belly, filling me with an exciting feeling.
If this happened in a book I’d been squealing and rolling on my bed.
Can’t do that here.
“I…” A shiver rakes through me. “You’d want that?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want it, Rose.”
Rose. He’s been calling me thata lotlately.
I don’t have a nickname for him.
I like the name Heath. It suits him perfectly.
However, I rarely call him by his name. It makes me so nervous because when I say his name, all his attention dawns on me and I become the centre of his world. Nothing or no one else exists. Just we do. And I haven’t learnt how to deal with that.
There are so many things that I’m learning. So much that I still have to learn. With him I can do it.
“Is cooking something you like doing?” Heath asks, breaking my chain of thoughts. “I know reading is your favourite thing in the world.”
I grin. “I don’t cook a lot, but Dad…” Instantly, food tastes like rocks in my mouth, but I swallow regardless. “He’s asked me to make dinner every night. I usually go with pasta or spaghetti because it takes less time and I can go to my room.”
I don’t need to spell it out for him to understand what I’m trying to say.
I sneak a glance at him and he looks deadly.
The blue in his eyes has turned a shade darker and his face is twisted in a scowl.
He sets his empty plate on the table and runs a hand through his hair.
I notice the silver rings on his fingers. There’s three on his right hand and two on his left hand. And of course, my bracelet on his left wrist. It’s always there.
“So he makes you work, huh?” he murmurs under his breath, sounding annoyed and mad.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” I assure him.
“I fucking do.” He retorts, looking all sorts of grumpy.
“He has a bunch of rules. As long as I follow them, I’m okay.”
Heath’s demeanour changes and I quickly realize I shouldn’t have said that.
