I lowered myself onto my ass and smiled. "Of course I am. I'm really a witch. Didn't you notice the cauldron over in the corner?" I jerked my head toward the oven. "It's the modern version."
"That explains everything." He sat down beside me, his now flaccid, damp cock in his lap. "You put a love potion in the food."
"Only in your food," I told him. "And Boner and Archer."
"And Jules," he said.
"I don't know about that," I said.
"I do." He rubbed the ball of my foot. "You may not be able to see it. He might not even realize it yet. But he's head over heels. Almost as much as I am."
"Almost as much?" I asked.
He glanced up and grinned. "I know what I feel. I'm pretty sure no one comes close to it. They probably think they do, but they're wrong."
"You seem very sure of that," I teased lightly. Not casting aspersions on his feelings, but love was something we couldn't measure, especially in someone else.
"I’m more sure of that than I've ever been of anything else," he said, leaning over to kiss my ankle. "Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo there?"
I glanced down. "I thought about it, but never got around to it. I guess I've been prioritizing these." I nodded toward the lines on my arm and the strikes through five of them. "Have you?"
"Not on my ankle," he said. "Maybe something on my shoulder. Do you think it would be too obvious if I got a picture of you and the words ‘Chef Stabby?'"
I laughed. "It would raise a few questions. Especially if Detective Getzoff saw it."
We might as well wave a flag over our heads to say, ‘Here we are. The people you're looking for. The people who know the answers to the questions you have.’
"Maybe something else then," he said.
I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it again.
"What is it?" He tilted his head and frowned at me. He seemed worried I was keeping a secret from him.
Tentatively, I said, "I was going to tease you but it might be in poor taste."
"Try me," he challenged.
If he insisted. "I was going to suggest you could get a picture of meatballs tattooed on you."
He stared at me for a moment, then laughed, sticking his tongue out at the same time. "That’s one for the maybe pile."
"I have a feeling the maybe pile is going straight into the dumpster out the back." I jerked my head in that direction.
"Well…" he drawled.
I laughed again. "I don't have an appropriate sense of humor. That's how I get by."
He exhaled softly out his nose, and switched to my other foot. "Me too. That and milkshakes. Jules uses anger to get out his frustration."
"I noticed that. Do you think it helps?" I leaned my back against the cabinet.
"Sometimes," he said. "Sometimes it makes things worse. He'll say things that'll upset other people. When they bite back, he gets angrier."
"Like me," I suggested.
"No," he said quickly. "You stick up for yourself. That's different. Everything you give him, he deserves. Same with Boner and Archer. But I think he likes arguing with all of you. And me."
"So you're saying arguing is his love language?" I asked.
