"You scared off my sous chef."
"He fled voluntarily."
"Because you were lurking. You're a lurker, Jagger. A professional lurker and it’s disgusting, I fully expected you to have better stalking capabilities than that."
"I don't lurk."
"You absolutely lurk. It's your whole aesthetic. Tall, dark, handsome, lurking in doorways like a broody vampire."
I cross the kitchen in three strides and wrap my arms around him from behind. He startles, then relaxes into me, his back warm against my chest. I press my face into his neck, breathing him in.
"We're going for a walk," I say against his skin.
"Now?"
"Now."
"But thesoup—"
"Will survive without you." I press a kiss to the spot below his ear. "Get your coat."
He sets down the knife, twisting in my arms to look at me. His eyes search my face, looking for something. I don't know what he finds, but it makes him smile.
"Okay," he says. "Let's go for a walk."
The snow is melting.
It's been warming for the past few days, the white drifts receding to reveal brown earth and patches of stubborn grass. Water drips from tree branches, and the air smells fresh. Clean.
We walk behind the farmhouse, following a path that winds into the forest. Jonah moves carefully, still favoring his wounded side, but his pace is steady. Stronger every day.
"You know what this reminds me of?" he says.
"What?"
"Every murder documentary I've ever watched." He gestures at the trees closing in around us. "Isolated location. Quiet forest. Handsome but mysterious companion leading the way. This is textbook serial killer behavior."
"I'm not a serial killer."
"That's exactly what a serial killer would say."
"I've killed people. That doesn't make me a serial killer."
"Semantics." He steps over a fallen branch, wincing slightly. "Where are we going, anyway?"
"Somewhere quiet."
"That's ominous, veeeeeery ominous. You're not helping your case."
"I don't have a case. I have a destination."
"Which is?"
I don't answer. Just keep walking, leading him deeper into the trees. The path opens up after a few minutes, revealing a small clearing. The snow has melted here completely, leaving soft grass and a carpet of early wildflowers. Sunlight streams through the canopy.
Jonah stops at the edge of the clearing, taking it in.
"Okay," he admits. "This is pretty. Very romantic. Slightly less murder-y than I expected."
