“Alright.”
I head toward the door, then pause, glancing back at her.
“But what do fairies eat?”
The pillow comes flying. I catch it just before it hits my face.
“Bastard,” she mutters.
I chuckle all the way downstairs.
Cooking helps.
It gives my hands something to do, something solid to focus on instead of the way she looked at me just now, or the way she sounded, or the fact that she’s upstairs in my apartment like she belongs there.
Like she’s staying.
I take my time with it, longer than necessary, making sure everything’s right before heading back up.
When I set the plates down, Lexy’s eyes widen.
“You can cook?”
“I try,” I say. “My mom made sure we knew the basics. Said we should cook for our family and not expect our spouses to be our maids.”
Her expression softens, something warmer settling there. “I like your mom.”
“Most people do,” I say, a hint of a smile slipping through.
We eat at the island, talking about Marvel theories, arguing over Easter eggs, throwing out predictions for movies that haven’t even come out yet, and it all slips into something easy without either of us trying too hard.
Too easy.
“Let’s skipThor,” Lexy says.
I turn toward her. “What? No. I love that one.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Why would you skip it?”
She thinks for a second. “Thor’s a spoiled prince,” she says. “And I don’t like him.”
I raise a brow. “Most women do. Especially for… other reasons.”
Her mouth twitches, but she shrugs. “I’m not most women.”
Something shifts in my chest at that, quiet but noticeable.
Yeah.
No, she’s not.
My eyes drop to her mouth before I catch myself, the curve of it, the way it moves when she talks, the way I’ve been noticing it more than I should.
I force my gaze away.
“You’re right,” I say, leaning back slightly. “Fairies are a whole different breed.”
