“I did.”
“Cool. What do you want to eat? There’s a restaurant a few-”
“Kier, you said this was your relaxation time.”
“Yeah.” He pushed himself up without hesitation and started toward the island. “But we still gotta eat, baby.”
I followed, leaning against the counter as he made his way around the kitchen.
“If I can’t work, then you can’t leave to get us something to eat. We will either starve or figure it out together, but you’re not leaving.”
“You’re a little bossy,” he laughed.
“I sure am! This is supposed to be relaxing for you, but you’re still living like you’re on the go. Let me make a grocery list for the week or so, and I’ll do your cooking for you.”
“I told you I didn’t want you lifting a finger this summer.”
“It’s the least I can do. And tomorrow I can drive into the city to-”
“No. I want you with me. Make your list, and I’ll send it to my butler. He’ll have everything here by morning.”
“K.”
“He did stock a little before we got here. You want a salad or something?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Honestly, I’m not that hungry since we ate on the plane.”
“Aaight. Well, make your list then.”
“Give me a minute to figure out what to grab.” I walked around the kitchen, opening cabinets to see what was currently there. When I turned back, he was watching me. I couldn’t help it, and a small smile slipped through. “You got a taste for anything in particular?”
“Yeah, something sweet.” He grinned, walking towards me.
“Is that so?” A small smile pulled at my lips. “You’re still gonna need something real.”
“Word.” He stepped in, brushing a kiss against my shoulder. “Real talk, Si, can you cook?” He asked, leaning against the counter.
“Uh, kinda.”
“Kinda? You bout to have a nigga in the desert eating noodles?”
“Stop playing with me.” We both laughed, and I nudged him. “Look, you get what you get, and you don’t throw a fit!”
“Like I said, bossy,” he whispered close to my ear as he slid pass me.
I smiled and began working on my list. Kier was a health nut; protein this, bulk that. Then on the flip side he had a cabinet full of junk food. When I finished canvasing the kitchen, I took the ingredients out for our meal. He prepared the salads; keeping it simple with romaine, kalamata olives, banana peppers, cucumbers and feta cheese.
We ate out on the patio, while the night humidity engulfed us. At some point, I realized I wasn’t thinking about what this was supposed to be. Questioning his intentions or calculating my next step was the furthest thing in my mind. And that alone felt unfamiliar enough to make me pause. I glanced over at him, catching the way he was looking at me.
“You’re doing it again,” he said.
“Doing what?”
“Thinking too much.”
“How can you tell?”
“It’s in your eyes.” He tilted his head as if he was pointing at them. “They become distant, even during conversation.”
