Page 103 of Reign

He waits. I don’t answer, so he steps away and leans against the counter again.

Shouldn’t? As if it’s cake for breakfast.

I cringe internally and stare at the berries. I need a bowl.

I start opening cabinets.

“What has the kitchen failed to provide now?”

I pause and force myself to look at him. “Do you need my step-by-step routine? Is it not obvious what I need? I have berries and nothing to put them in!”

The corner of his mouth moves like my irritation has finally made the morning interesting.

Then he steps toward me.

Slowly.

Like he has all the time in the world. Like I’m not standing in his kitchen with my hand still on one of his cabinet doors, glaring at him like a woman who has absolutely not been thinking about his forearms since she walked in.

He doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of me.

Too close.

Close enough that I have to tip my chin up to keep looking angry at him, which is unfair because anger should not require neck strain. Close enough that I can see the gold starburst around the center of his iris, hidden like the sun had been trapped there and decided to stay.

My mouth goes dry.

He reaches over me.

I freeze because the cabinet is behind my head and his arm is beside my face and his scent wraps around me and it takes everything not to humiliatingly breathe him in.

He pulls a bowl from the shelf I had already opened and lowers it between us.

A simple, elegant white bowl. Probably hand-thrown by some artisan in a tiny European village where people say things like this clay spoke to me.

He holds it out.

I don’t take it right away.

His gaze drops to my mouth for half a second before returning to my eyes.

“You can be nervous without declaring war on my kitchen.”

“I’m not nervous,” I snap.

He smirks. “So this is just your personality?”

I snatch the bowl from him. “It’s a good personality!”

“Of course.”

I turn away before I ask him what that look means or throw a blackberry at his face.

I put the bowl on the counter and dump the berries into the bowl with more force than necessary. They tumble together in a pretty little pile, dark and red and bright, and I hate that it looks good against the white ceramic.

His stupid bowl makes my breakfast look editorial.

I reach for the freezer.