“Do not,” I said quickly. “You’ll only make it worse.”
He paused, tilted his head as if he was considering that, then nodded. “I can order something.”
“I was planning to do that.” I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through to reclaim some control.
“What are you ordering?” he asked.
“Something that can be delivered,” I said. “Ideally made by someone who has cooked before.”
He nodded again, and I saw no wounded pride on his face, just acceptance.
That did something inconvenient to me. I felt it settle low in my chest, warm and unwelcome. He had tried but failed. And he hadn’t defended himself or pretended the failure didn’t exist. He accepted it and was working with me to make it better.
That alarmed me, so I took another bite.
He noticed immediately. “You don’t have to eat it.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m punishing myself.”
Sighing, he took the plate from me.
“Also, you’re hot enough that this can be forgiven,” I said, because I was feeling risky.
He blinked slowly. “Good to know,” he said, steady as ever.
“Do you want anything specific from The Saucy Panda or should I surprise you?”
He looked mildly concerned. “Surprise me.”
I finished the order and set my phone down. He stayed where he was, in my half-unpacked living room, waiting for foodto arrive, letting me hate being taken care of without taking it personally.
I gestured impatiently toward the couch, mostly because he was still standing there with that infuriating combination of patience and readiness, as if he were waiting for further instructions. He looked capable of standing there all night, which made me want to push him just to see what would happen.
“Sit,” I said.
He sat, but not beside me. He took the chair across the room instead, angled slightly toward me without crowding my space. Close enough for me to feel his presence, not so close to insinuate a right to proximity.
Markie muttered something obscene, but his tone suggested commentary rather than escalation.
Liam tilted his head. “What did he say?”
“Nothing supportive,” I said. “Mostly anatomical.”
“Okay then,” he said.
My body settled against my will, shoulders loosening, weight sinking into the couch, muscles unclenching one by one. Traitorous body. I hadn’t authorized that response and resented it immediately.
“You’re very calm for someone who just got aggressively cursed out by a bird and then had your cooking insulted.”
“He set a boundary,” Liam said. “I respected it. And like I said, I don’t really cook. No offense taken.”
I laughed. It slipped out, short and surprised, bypassing my defenses entirely. Annoyed with myself, I quickly pressed my lips together.
He smiled in response, the look in his eyes acknowledging that something had passed between us.
“It’s rare for someone to respect boundaries—even a bird’s.” I said it lightly, but I didn’t look away.
“It shouldn’t be,” he said, then frowned. His attention shifted inward in a way that felt intentional, as if he were checking himself before stepping into something heavier. “I have a genetic predisposition toward action and fixing what’s in front of me,” he said.
