“Could have fooled me with the way you were holding onto that handle for dear life.”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Perhaps there is some riveting documentary about spreadsheets or expense reports you can go fall asleep to?”
He laughs, and it feels like the clouds parted and heaven graced us with a miracle.
Oh, Iris. This is how it all starts.
I recognize the warmth seeping through my chest as he smiles at me.
I hate it. I love it. And I can’t seem to stop myself from craving more of it.
He smiles. “I actually came down to eat.”
“Great. I’ll leave you to it then.” I drench my noodles with pasta sauce before stepping away from the counter. I’ll clean the mess up later once Declan goes away.
“Or you could stay.”
“What?” I blink.
“I never said you had to leave.”
Shit. If I leave, it makes me seem unequipped to handle him for long spans of time without adult supervision.
Probably because it’s true. It’s one thing to spend time around him in an office; it’s a whole other thing to interact with him in the confines of our home.
I shake my head. “Oh no. I had plans to eat upstairs anyway.”
His eyes drop to the napkin and shiny cutlery I set down. When he looks back up, his eyes seem to brighten. “Do I make you nervous?”
“No,” I say too quickly.
His grin widens.
No wonder the man doesn’t smile often. The world wouldn’t stand a chance against him if he were to use them more frequently.
He opens a cabinet and grabs an empty plate before loading it with a healthy amount of noodles. “If it makes you feel better, we could talk about work.”
My horrified expression can’t be masked. “How is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Because it’s normal.”
“Doesn’t make it right!” I laugh.
The skin around his eyes tightens. “I concede. No talking about work.”
“Fine. But only because you seem pathetically in need of some company.” I drop into the barstool with defeat. During the limited time Declan and I have interacted in the house, we have never eaten together. He seems to always busy himself in his office while I cook a sad meal for one. And unlike our fake date, this feels intimate. At least significantly more intimate than eating in a restaurant full of people for show.
He situates himself beside the placemat I put out for myself.
“So…” I grab my fork.
His eyes reflect his amusement as he lets me stammer through the silence.
“I don’t like this game you’re playing.”
“And what game is that?” He clutches onto his fork and twirls it in his pasta. His elbow touches mine, and I suck in a breath at the sensation shooting up my arm.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
“I’m drawing a blank.” He spreads his thighs, and one of them brushes up against mine.
I shoot him a glare as I lift my fork. “Touch my leg again and I’ll be forced to take physical action.”
His head drops back. Declan’s laugh is a weapon of mass seduction, and I’m its biggest target. It’s rough and unpracticed, and it makes a tingle shoot down my spine.
I melt into the stool, allowing the sound to wash over me like a warm summer day. A sense of pride hits me at making someone like him laugh like this in the first place, given just how much he resists it. It feels like my own kind of superpower and a secret I plan on protecting.
Declan sobers, snapping back into reality as he takes a bite of his dinner.
“How is it?”
“Tastes like it came out of a box.”
I laugh. “I’ve never been much of a cook. By the time I get home usually, I’m lucky if I’m motivated to boil some water.”
“I could cook tomorrow if you’re interested.”
My mouth drops open. Is this conversation even really happening?
“I didn’t realize you knew how to cook.”
“Imagine if I didn’t. I’d be eating boiled noodles for the rest of my life like someone I know.”
“Three years.”
His brows pull together. “What?”
“For the next three years. Not your life.”
“Right.” His voice is devoid of emotion.
I nudge him with my elbow. “But I’ll still take you up on dinner tomorrow. I don’t think I could stomach another night of pasta anyway.”
“Out of all the things you could use me for, you go with my cooking skills?”
“I don’t see why not. It’s not like you have much else going for you.” My comment earns me a death glare.
“You sure know how to make a man feel special.” His lips curve, throwing me back to the night when our whole lives changed.
“Special is the last word I would use to describe you,” I repeat his words from our engagement party back at him.
His gaze holds mine hostage. “What word would you use then?”
“It’s improper.”
“All the better.”
I shake my head. “I’ll pass.”
“Then ask me what word I would use to describe you.”
I really shouldn’t, but curiosity wins out. “Fine. What word?”
There’s something about the way he looks at me when he says it that makes butterflies take flight in my stomach. “Yuánfèn.”
I blink. “I’m sorry. Was that even English?” I’m already at a severe disadvantage when it comes to the language I speak every day, let alone foreign ones.
He seems privy to some joke with himself. “No.”
I pull out my phone and try to search the word based on my spelling, but I must be butchering it big time.
“Can you say it again for me? Slowly.”
He says it again—this time with a phonetic breakdown of consonants and vowels—which should be easy enough for anyone but me to spell out. My fingers hover over the keys, and I try my hardest to spell the word he said, but the only thing that comes up is you ahn phan.
“Want my help?” His voice drops low, making me feel helpless.
I want to throw my phone at the nearest wall. Tears fill my eyes, but I blink them away. Showing weakness in front of Declan is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. I refuse to do it.
“Whatever. It’s probably a curse word anyway.” I clutch my phone with a death grip as I hop off the barstool.
“To you, it might be.”
His joke lands on deaf ears. I’m too far gone to do anything but walk away before I admit something I’m not ready to share.
“Hey. Where are you going?”
“To bed.” I don’t bother looking back at him.
“What’s wrong?” The scrape of his stool pushes me into action. I take longer strides. I’m halfway toward the stairs when his hand latches onto my elbow.
“What happened back there?”
I can’t look him in the eyes as I respond, “Nothing. I’m just tired.” I tug my arm out of his grasp, and this time, he lets me make a smooth getaway.
I take the stairs two at a time, all while Declan’s eyes burn a hole through my back. It’s not until I’m in the comfort of my room that I let it all out. I grab a pillow, shove my face in it, and let the tears fall.