Me?
Tongue-tied?
Never.
But when it comes to Elijah Hart and forehead kisses, I’d happily roll over and let him rub my stomach the way he did to Ghost when we arrived. I’d even purr for him if he asked.
In silence, he slips his fingers into mine, removes his lips from my skin and guides me to the table, where he pulls out a chair for me then takes off to finish dinner once I’m seated.
As he busies himself in the open-plan kitchen overlooking the dining table, which is large enough to feed an army, the only sounds are from the low hum of the oven, and the music fromK-Pop Demon Huntersfills the room. I’m too stunned to talk because this feels so natural, me here with Ghost, and Eli cooking for me.
“I hope you like mac and cheese.” He opens the oven, then puts on some oven mitts and reaches inside to pull out a red stone pot, the melted cheese on top crackling and popping and scenting the air with aromas that make my stomach rumble and my mouth water.
I’m starving, and it’s not just for food. I want him.
“Mac and cheese is perfect, Eli,” I assure him as he strides toward the table, then joins me around it.
He went out of his way to make me something I can enjoy, and that means a lot.
“Does Twinkletoes need to eat?” Eli sets the casserole pot down on the trivet between us.
I take notes, watching him as he removes the mitts, lays them neatly one on top of the other, then pushes them to the side and lines the wrists along the edge of the table.
Mm. He does that with his phone too, and other items, like the ones he has on his desk, but I ignore it and ask, confused, “Twinkletoes?”
“Ghost.” He turns his head to look at Ghost, who is still perched on the edge of the sofa arm, sitting poker straight like he’s king of the castle. He hasn’t moved an inch, as if hypnotized.
Twinkletoes. I like it. “I fed him earlier. He’ll be fine. Cat milk before bedtime, though.” I mumble my last words under my breath, drawing circles with my fingertips on the brown tinted glass tabletop. I’m not being presumptuous; he did ask me to bring an overnight bag.
“So, you’ve decided you’re staying over?” Eli asks, sounding curious.
“If you want me to,” I breathe, almost too scared to fully commit.
He replies without hesitation. “I want you to.”
“Then it’s settled.” I pick up my wine glass and take a sip, expecting red wine, only to discover it’s fruity and non-alcoholic, and I throw him a look.
A sheepish grin spreads across his face, and he shrugs like a mischievous child caught in the act. “That’s what you were drinking yesterday between glasses of champagne.”
Cranberry juice is my favorite. I’m not used to someone paying this much attention to me. It’s nice.
“You’re too kind.” And considerate and attentive, all the things I could ever wish for in a man.
“And you’re hungry. I could hear your stomach growling from the kitchen.”
“It was not,” I snap back to cover my embarrassment.
Eli cups his hand around his ear to listen, and just as expected, my stomach rumbles again, causing a laugh to escape from my lips.
“I hate it when you’re right.” I am hungry. Given that I’ve barely eaten anything today, I could eat a vegetable plantation.
Grabbing the serving spoon, Eli plunges it into the lusciously melted cheese and scoops a heap of the creamy pasta onto it. He pulls it in the air, the gooey strands of cheese stretching long and teasing me some more.
“I love it when I’m right,” he says, serving me first, tapping the spoon against my plate to displace the stubborn pasta.
“Oh, I know you do,” I counter, teasing him as he serves himself next.
“Eat, Sapphire. You’re going to need your strength.” He rests the spoon inside the dish and picks up his fork.
