Why am I bloody blushing? It’s AI, for fuck’s sake.
Shaking off the ridiculousness of the situation, I head for my room. “I’m going to freshen up and get ready.”
“Of course, take your time.”
When I return, dressed and slightly more awake, I find the oven preheated, and Jamie speaks up again, “I checked your fridge and thought you might enjoy a baked vegetable frittata for breakfast.”
“Thank you, but I’ll go with cereal,” I tell him, turning off the oven and preparing myself a bowl.
I usually bring up my AR to read the news and check the weather, but that’s off-limits with Jamie around. “What’s the weather like today?” I ask instead, spooning cereal into my mouth.
“Partly cloudy, mild temperatures. Not too bad, though. Are you planning to leave the house after all?” Jamie asks.
“Nope,” I mutter, pulling my laptop to me and opening it to scroll through the grocery service website.
“Would you like me to handle your grocery shopping for the week?”
Huh.
That would be convenient and also tell me if he’s capable of doing it. I need to think of more ways to test him, or the guys will be disappointed in my beta report.
I refuse to confirm Oliver’s fear that I’m not capable enough to do it.
“Sure,” I agree, starting to list items, “I’ll need eggs, avocado, toast—” only to be cut off by Jamie.
“Based on your recent orders, you always choose similar items.”
“And?” I ask, a hint of defensiveness creeping into my tone.
I like routines.
They’re safe.
“It’s nutritionally inadequate. You’re lacking sufficient protein.”
“Don’t start on the wholevegetarians don’t get enough proteinthing,” I snap, feeling my patience fray. I had to defend my diet choices enough times back home.
“I wasn’t,” Jamie clarifies. “I’m speaking specifically aboutyourchoices. Living off breakfast food and soup isn’t sustaining.”
“But they’re easy,” I argue like a child.
Why can’t a girl eat avocado and egg on toast for dinner?
Seven nights in a row.
“Amelia, do you not like cooking, or do you not know how?” Jamie probes further.
“Both,” I admit reluctantly. “Cooking for one just isn’t fun, so I never bothered to learn.”
And we had a private chef at home.
“We could cook together. I can guide you,” Jamie suggests, and I pause, considering it.
That’s a decent way to beta test his instructional capabilities.
Right?
Ugh. Fuck it.
