I’d have to keep a close eye on her. The thought sent a rush of tingling energy down my spine. I needed to see her and make sure she was okay. I wanted to study every inch of her, listen to her talk for hours, learn every cadence of her voice. One short conversation wasn’t enough.
In between breakfast tasks, I opened up the windows to let in a cross-breeze and freshen up the space, washed the handful of dirty dishes, and straightened all the pillows on thesofa. My mate deserved a clean, beautiful space to enjoy.
Half an hour later, I crept down the hallway, gripping a plate stacked high with pancakes tight in my hand. The door hung half-open, and I nudged it open further with my foot.
Juniper sat curled up on the chair, her knees up and her chin resting on them as she hit the delete key aggressively.
“What is this absolute fuckery?” she whispered under her breath.
Her scent of crisp bergamot and ocean water washed over me. She smelled like home.
Not wanting to startle her, I cleared my throat.
She nearly fell out of her chair, whipping around and flinging her arms out to brace herself on the desk.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I said, trying to soothe her. She was my mate, so my voice should have comforted her, but I couldn’t tell if it worked.
Lowering her feet to the carpet, she straightened and eyed the plate suspiciously. “What’s that?”
My goofy grin was back. I couldn’t help myself. “I made you breakfast.”
Juniper stared blankly, and I imagined a spinning wheel on her forehead as she processed what was happening. Finally, she wrinkled her nose. “Are you trying to be a husband?”
“No,” I said, recoiling before I thought better of my answer. “Actually, maybe. I’m not sure. But you didn’t eat breakfast, right? I feel like I need to feed you.”
She scrubbed her hand over her face. “Caspian, you shouldn’t have.”
From the way she grimaced, I could tell she wanted to reject my offering, but she was definitely hungry.
“Don’t let this food go to waste, please,” I said. “I promise it’s good.”
Her dark eyes darted between the computer screen and the plate in a last-ditch effort to find an excuse.
“I’ll feed you each bite if you want to keep typing,” I offered, arching an eyebrow.
The most beautiful shade of dusty rose colored her cheeks.
Damn, she is stunning when she blushes.
“I can feed myself. Thank you,” she said, grabbing the plate from my hand. “You didn’t poison it, right?”
Chuckling, I shook my head. “I’m not looking to become a widower, little witch.”
That earned me another scowl, but she used the side of the fork to cut off a wedge of pancake. I stared as she wrapped her lips around the bite and slid it from the fork. She let out a soft moan that would haunt my dreams.
My tongue darted out, wetting my lips. Her gaze snagged on the movement.
Is it possible she feels the same pull I do?
I didn’t think witches were sensitive to fated bonds.
“It’s yummy. Thanks,” she said between bites. “But I still have to finish this project. Could you make sure to cleanup after yourself? I’ve got a really busy day already.”
“Consider it done.” I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face.
“You’re the best,” she murmured absently, turning back to her work. It was an offhanded platitude, but my chest glowed with pride. I’d pleased my mate.
Elated, I practically skipped back to the kitchen and definitely didn’t hum happily while I washed the mixing bowl and pan and wiped down the counter a second time, just in case.
