Tobias cocked his head at me, furrowing his brows.
Ben made a sound behind me that was suspiciously close to a laugh, but when I glanced back at him, his expression had rearranged itself into perfect innocence.
“As opposed to what?” Tobias asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, a bit embarrassed. “I just thought maybe you had someone who did that.”
His sleeves were still rolled to his forearms, neat and precise even in their casualness, and there was something strange about seeing him like that. Tobias always looked composed, but usually in a way that made him seem untouchable, in expensive suits and polished designer shoes.
This was different.
Not relaxed, exactly. I wasn’t sure Tobias Kelly knew how to be relaxed.
But human.
Domestic, maybe.
The word settled in my head with an embarrassing amount of warmth.
“I don’t make the time to cook often,” he said, drawing my attention back to him. “But I wanted to today.”
The table wasn’t elaborate in a showy way, but it was thoughtful. Toast arranged on a plate instead of dumped somewhere, fruit cut into clean pieces, little dishes of butter and jam set out with the same careful spacing he seemed to apply to everything. There was coffee too, and water, and what looked like some kind of eggs folded with herbs.
It didn’t look like something made by a person who just threw food together because bodies required fuel.
It looked intentional.
“You didn’t have to,” I said, because that was what people said when they were overwhelmed by kindness and didn’t know how to address it.
“I’m aware.”
“Um… Well, thank you,” I murmured.
Ben stepped past me into the kitchen with the ease of someone thoroughly comfortable in this space. “I’ll handle lunch later,” he said. “Unless either of you have a specific request?”
Tobias looked to me expectantly.
“I’m not picky,” I said quickly.
Ben grinned. “That’s exactly what picky eaters say.”
“I’m not,” I insisted, pausing a second to bite my tongue. “Well, I mean… I don’t like mushrooms or carrots, or turkey, or fish. And I don’t like anything too greasy either. Oh, and no Vegemite, please.”
Ben laughed. “Not picky, my ass. But no worries, I won’t make ya choke down any of that.”
Tobias, meanwhile, looked as though he’d just been given very serious information. That, and he quietly pushed a small pot further away from one of the plates.
“Thank you. Both of you…” I muttered shyly.
“It’s not a big deal,” Ben answered, to which Tobias nodded in agreement. “Everyone has preferences. I hate olives, for example.”
Oh, shoot.
“Me too,” I said as my ears flamed, even as a small smile that tugged at my mouth.
“I do not like fried foods,” Tobias added, making my smile just a tad brighter.
Ben’s gaze flicked between us, that knowing amusement returning to his expression. “Right,” he said. “I’ll leave you to breakfast, then. I’ll be around if you need me.”
