He likes it.I can see it in his eyes.I should make him a cup every morning.But he’d have to stay here for that.His nostrils flared as a vision of Puck crawling into Peter’s bed unspooled in his mind.Peter had no idea where that was coming from, but he was powerless to stop it.
After a moment, Puck started going through the menus.His stomach rumbled as he read through the items and selected pizza and a salad, of all things.Peter just nodded and stepped outside to order from the landline.
While Peter was making the call from his study—with the door wide open in case Puck felt like eavesdropping—Peter also texted Celeste.
Will call in that favor.Details later.
So many things you want from me lately.
Whatever you need.
??
Once he was done ordering Puck’s food, Peter walked back to the kitchen, taking pains to let his footfalls be heard.Puck had almost finished the hot chocolate.
“Your food should be here in half an hour.”
“Okay.”
Peter went back to the pantry to find the white chocolate.He would get Puck addicted to chocolate if he could; a truly silly idea that appealed to Peter for some reason.For a very specific reason.But Peter was going to keep bullshitting himself for a little while longer.If he allowed himself to acknowledge that he cared about that human sipping the last bit of his hot chocolate and staring out the kitchen window with a pained expression, well, then there would be no more denying it.
And once Peter could no longer deny, he would have to commit, because that was what he had always done in his long life.And once he committed to keeping Puck safe, he would have to do all manner of things, like remembering birthdays and anniversaries, getting sappy on random occasions, and good grief, the bother.
Also, strawberries.I’ll have to send him those.And wake him with a hot chocolate each morning.
At the counter, Peter cut small chunks of some of his more expensive chocolates, and put them on a small plate.Then he walked over to Puck and placed the plate in front of him.
“I’ll make you a refill.Want to pick the chocolates yourself this time?”
Puck’s green eyes flicked to Peter.“Are you messing with me?”He looked at the samples.
“Not at all.”
Puck frowned.“I’m good.”
“Of course.Maybe later.”
As Peter went to put the chocolates away again, from the corner of his eye he saw Puck putting one of the dark chocolate samples into his mouth.His eyes widened at the taste.
Dark and sweet.Got you.
The food arrived thirty-seven minutes later.Peter made sure to tip exceedingly generously in the hopes that the delivery person would hurry next time.Puck excused himself to the bathroom before eating, and Peter put everything on the table, adding a plate, cutlery, and napkins.He also retrieved his own laptop from the car and settled down at the kitchen table with it.
“What’s all this?”Puck asked when he returned, once more smelling like soap.
“Just some work.”Peter adjusted the laptop screen.
“No, I mean this.”Puck lifted a knife off the placemat Peter had found.
Peter looked at Puck for a moment.“It’s a salad knife.”
“A…salad knife.”
Peter nodded.“I believe for…tomatoes perhaps?I cannot say I have personal experience with salad.”
Puck gave Peter a funny little look before saying, “Whatever.Salad knife, my ass.”
That set Peter to musing about that particular part of Puck’s anatomy, which made him itch to open Photoshop and covertly take a photo of Puck with his laptop camera.
