Little minx.
I have to suppress a smile, happy she’s back to sass. I was worried when I was too harsh with her earlier today, and she retreated from me.
I can’t help but chuckle at her jab. “I thought I’d try something new. You know,manners,” I reply, stepping into her apartment as she steps aside to let me in.
“Shocking,” she quips, closing the door behind me.
I kick off my shoes, and we make our way to her kitchen. I know that Oliver and Misha are watching our every move back in our office, and I feel guilty because she doesn’t.
Fuck, we’re assholes.
“So, spinach lasagna tonight?” I ask, trying to swallow the guilt while surveying the ingredients laid out on her counter, surprised she has already decided on something.
“Yeah, Jamie thought it’d be simple enough, even for a kitchen novice, and he already ordered everything we need for it last Saturday,” Amelia says, her tone light.
Ah.
“Good choice.” I nod approvingly. “Let’s get started then. Jamie, you ready to assist?”
Jamie’s voice chimes in from the speakers, “Always ready to help, Grey.”
I wash my hands, and Amelia follows suit. Then she stands beside me, her face lit up with eagerness. I can’t help but notice how her excitement makes her eyes sparkle behind her glasses.
“Jamie, preheat the oven to three seventy-five, please,” I command, tearing my eyes off her to see if there is a lack of reaction, but the light goes on instantly.
“Oven preheating initiated,” Jamie announces.
“First, we’re going to mix the ricotta with spinach and herbs,” I instruct, showing her how to combine the ingredients. I easily move around her kitchen, fetching each item as if I were in my own space.
“Let me try,” Amelia demands, stepping forward to take the bowl. While she stirs, her hand wobbles, and a dollop of ricotta overflows.
Quickly, I reach out, catching the drip on my finger, and bring it to my mouth. “Doesn’t taste too bad.” Curious, Amelia dips her finger into the mixture, and I immediately wrinkle my nose. “Use a spoon, please.”
“What, for this?” she challenges, her voice playful as she dips her finger in again, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Yes, for that,” I confirm, a hint of mock sternness in my tone as I step closer to her.
“It’s good.” Unperturbed, she grins and goes for another taste.
This time, I act quickly, grasping her wrist before she can bring her finger to her mouth again. I bring her finger to my lips instead and suck off the ricotta, maintaining eye contact.
God, I wanna lick all of you.
Her cheeks flush, her eyes are wide with surprise and something else—perhaps delight—at the unexpected intimacy. She’s momentarily speechless, her usual quick wit paused as she seemingly processes what I just did.
I don’t know either, baby.
“Needs more salt, though,” I remark awkwardly after releasing her and stepping back again to reach for the salt, glancing up at one of her many cameras on the ceiling.
Shit, no idea how to explain that to Oliver.
I show her how to layer the lasagna properly, our hands occasionally brushing as we work together. With each shared smile and glance, the kitchen feels smaller, the air thick with something.
The fuck I know what.
“Now, let’s set up the stove for the béchamel. Jamie, set the stovetop to medium heat.”
The stove instantly reacts as I watch, affirming that our adjustments are functioning correctly.
