Faust sounded amused. “I thought you weren’t speaking to me.”
Goddammit.
I stormed out into the kitchen, where I was instantly hit by a rich, delicious aroma.
“Whoa,” I said, floating to the opposite end of the counter. “What is that?”
“Onions, ginger, garlic,” Sagitta replied without looking up at me. He was laser-focused on chopping the ingredients into three neat piles. As I watched his rapid-fire motions, I thought that his precision with the knife was weirdly sexy.
Come to think of it, he was weirdly sexy when he wielded his bow, too. Was I just into dudes with weapons? I thought about some of my past flings brandishing swords and shit, but it didn’t do anything for me. Just Sagitta.
Maybe it was his radiant confidence. He seemed to excel at everything he did—shooting arrows, chopping garlic, cooking delicious food, slaying demons...
“Except me,” Faust pointed out smugly.
I actually managed to ignore him this time, mainly because Sagitta thrust the dick-shaped potato in my face.
“Peel this,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
I sidled up beside Sagitta and peeled the dick potato. By the time I’d finished my singular task, he’d already grabbed a pot and started toasting the spices. The air sizzled with mouthwatering scents. My apartment had never smelled so amazing, and Sagitta had barely started cooking.
“Wow, dude, you’re really good at this,” I said.
Sagitta shrugged. “Not really.”
“Oh, come on. You made my meals back at the temple, too, right? You’re an awesome chef.”
He snorted, but he looked pleased at my compliment.
“It’s no big deal,” he said, sprinkling a dash of cinnamon into the pot.
“Well, it is to me. I can only cook eggs and pasta.”
Sagitta smirked. “I know.” Then he paused, a shadow falling over his eyes. “Cooking is a life skill. I learned out of necessity.”
“What do you mean?”
He lifted his face and stared blankly ahead. His voice grew slightly hoarse, thick with emotion. “We lost my father when I was a teenager. Drunk driver.”
I winced. As if losing a parent wasn’t hard enough, knowing it was preventable was even worse. No wonder Sagitta had been so uncomfortable around the intoxicated frat boys.
“After that, my mother wasn’t the same. She stopped cooking and cleaning. The house was a mess. Since I was the oldest son, I had to step up to take care of my family.”
My chest squeezed in sympathy. Being a kid in that situation was rough, and Sagitta was forced to mature too fast. That explained why he was so serious, why he felt like he had to control everything.
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine,” I murmured.
“I wouldn’t want you to.”
I got the sense there was more left unsaid, but Sagitta didn’t have the energy to spill any more of his soul today. As he stared into the sizzling pot, strands of dark hair fell across his forehead.
He was beautiful.
I wanted to touch him. Reassure him.
Before I started overthinking it, I brushed my hand across his shoulders. Just a simple physical reminder that he wasn’t alone.
