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“The third?”
“Your other favorite?”
I should’ve felt bad. There was genuine curiosity on her face, but I couldn’t summon the strength to be anything other than amused.
“You are, sweetheart. You’re my favorite sweet treat, and I can’t wait for tonight’s serving. I might even have seconds,” I told her pointedly, then turned and left before I did something stupid, like climb into that bath with her and fuck her until she forgot her name.
Chapter twelve
Tillie
Feeling relaxed and refreshed, I padded down the stairs, following the scent of something that made my stomach grumble. For someone whose whole life revolved around feeding other people and making sure they had everything they needed, I was terrible at looking after myself.
“Smells good,” I commented, finding Cody in the kitchen, a towel tossed over his shoulder.
“Well grab a seat. Dinner is almost ready,” he replied with a megawatt smile that had my nipples puckering.
“What can I do to help?” I offered.
“Absolutely nothing. Sit down and let me take care of you,” he retorted, rounding the counter and pulling out my chair.
Once I was seated, he brushed my hair off my shoulder and kissed the spot just below my ear that made me shiver. But as quickly as he started, he was gone again.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” he asked.
“White would be great,” I answered as I peered into the kitchen trying to figure out what we were eating. Not that it mattered. My stomach was growling and my mouth watering.
A few minutes later as I sipped on my wine, Cody set a plate down in front of me heaped with meatloaf, green beans, and garlic mashed potatoes.
“This looks amazing,” I told him, setting my glass aside.
He let out a restrained chuckle. “Let’s hope it tastes as good as it looks,” he replied in a self-deprecating way.
I reached across the table and took his hand in mine. Anyone who cooked for me was a hero in my eyes. So even if his potatoes were dry and the meatloaf bland, I’d be appreciative.
The moment I tasted it, though, I realized he didn’t have anything to worry about. It was delicious.
“Where’d you learn to cook like this?” I asked between bites.
“My grandma. I spent a lot of time at her place when I was a kid. Mom worked a lot, so I stayed with Grandma. She taught me all the things she thought my future wife would appreciate.”
I coughed, choking on my wine. “Future wife?”
He smirked. “Yeah. She taught me to cook, how to do the laundry, even how to sew on a button.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable.
“All very important things,” I agreed.
“They are. But she also instilled in me the importance of manners,” he continued, his eyes beaming.
“She sounds like an incredible woman.”
“She is,” he agreed.
“Where is she now?” I asked nervously.
“She lives in a retirement village in Dallas. She has the best garden in the whole place and makes the meanest apple pie you’ve ever tasted.”
“That’s a big call,” I commented, reaching for my wine.
