Though Ford had been happy with his wife, he hadn’t felt so deeply. His beast had adored her, but not to the degree it felt about Daphne after only a handful of days. Ford could tell himself that the loneliness had taken its toll on his beast, but he was still left to wonder if he’d been wrong.
“Well?” Daphne pushed. “Are you going to tell me about her?”
He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have brought her up. I’m making this all about me when you’re sitting here with your feet hurting. Have you fed yourself today?”
Daphne sat up straight and peered at him. A small smile reached her lips. “I’m a shifter. My feet are fine now.”
That might have been the truth, but Ford wanted to treat her tonight. He grabbed her boots before kneeling to scoop her up from the stone wall. She didn’t make a sound, but gripped his shirt like he might drop her any moment.
“Let’s go where no shirt, no shoes, no service isn’t a rule.”
Chapter Six
Daphne couldn’t imagine an institution that would allow her in without shoes. No nail salon would be open, and she seriously doubted that was where Ford wanted to take her. When he turned back the way he’d come, she had an idea of where they might be going.
When her phone rang and she twisted to get it from her purse, Ford adjusted his hold on her so she couldn’t reach it.
“Leave it,” he told her.
“What if it’s Casey, and Evangeline needs me?”
“If that man truly is her mate, then he should have everything handled. You can have a single night to yourself,” Ford said.
She scowled when his words rang true. So many had relied on her for help over the past years that she struggled to give up the role. To hear the words come from someone other than herself validated the information. Had she said the same thing to herself, she would have accused herself of being weak willed and lazy.
Ford kicked a door open and carried her inside an unfamiliar home. “My place is small. I apologize if that’s going to make you uncomfortable. I’ve known some dragons who can’t bear any room smaller than a football field.”
Daphne laughed and thought of Gavin’s massive cabin. Ford set her down on a plush couch and stepped away to find the light. A lamp in the corner illuminated the small living room. The dining table stood barely four feet away, and the kitchen was directly around the corner from it.
Though the space was as small as Ford had warned, she wasn’t bothered by it. Instead, his scent on everything comforted her. She grabbed a pillow from the couch and hugged it close.
Ford didn’t join her. He disappeared around the corner. She listened to the squeak of cabinet hinges as he opened the doors. She took the time to take in his home. The dining table was covered with spiral-bound notebooks in all stages of use. Some had frayed covers. Some were open, with pens lying on their pages. Others were brand new and waiting to be loved.
She stood and approached them, curious as to what they might contain. Her snooping felt a little shameful, but Ford didn’t spin and curse her when she reached for one. The open notebook bore stains and granules of what she suspected to be spilled salt. Recipe notes filled the margins. Ingredient substitutions and weights filled the rest of the space.
“I thought cooking was a woman’s job,” Daphne said.
Ford’s laugh was rich and hardy, drawing warmth from her core to her chest. She’d never heard him laugh so deeply, and it took her by surprise.
“It helps with the dragon rage,” he said as he set knives on the counter. “When I want to rip and tear at something, I’ll butcher a cut of meat instead. When I want to burn the world to the ground, I’ll char some vegetables. I pour every horrible part of myself into my cooking.”
Daphne paused. “I don’t think you’re horrible.”
Ford braced himself against the counter. His shoulders tightened. Daphne wished she could see his face, but he kept his back to her.
“You don’t know me,” he said quietly.
Daphne didn’t know what to say. How could she fight his own beliefs about himself? He was right that she didn’t know him. She had nothing to draw upon in order to convince him otherwise.
“How often do you want to rip and tear? How often do you want to burn the world to ashes? Both seem pretty drastic. I can’t imagine you want to do either on a daily basis.” She flipped through the nearest notebook.
He looked over his shoulder and pinned her with a knowing look. “Are you telling me you don’t want to do either?”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but she couldn’t. Her dragon had never been as docile as she made it seem. The creature had a fury all her own, but Daphne kept it hidden away from the world as if that might make her appear better off. The reality of the matter was that Daphne wanted to shake everything. She wanted to let her beast throw off the mantle of the perfect creature and run rampant.
“Touché,” was the best she could manage.
She flipped another page and her name appeared. Her heart fluttered. Leaning closer to decipher Ford’s chicken scratch script, she made sense of the scattered page.
Dinner for Daphne.
Beneath her name was a list of different courses. The hastily scrawled paragraphs contained bits of recipes, notes on what to change, and things added in a different pen.
Her heart wouldn’t stop its butterfly-like dance. She couldn’t’ believe Ford had designed a whole menu for her. Though she didn’t expect him to make it for her, to see that she was on his thoughts as much as he was on hers warmed her through and through. Maybe he wasn’t as cold and distant as she’d thought.
When she’d asked him to tell her about the mate he’d lost, he’d faltered. She’d assumed that it was still too difficult for him to talk about her. Now, Daphne wondered if maybe he chose to focus on her instead.
Maybe, Ford was healing.
The truth that he would never be her mate if he’d already had his own hit her. Her heart stuttered and the feeling in her chest faded. She wanted Ford. Watching him move about his small kitchen stoked a fire in her lower stomach. Her hunger had nothing to do with food.
Even if Ford was ready to move on, she would never be able to find the devotion she yearned for. Not with him, at least. He’d been claimed once. Two mates in one lifetime never happened.
When he finally turned, he didn’t have a plate, but a cutting board. She raised a brow and wondered what he would be bringing to her straight from the cutting board, but when he set it before her, she gaped.
“How the hell does a single man have so many cheese options in his fridge?” she asked, as she gawked at the display of carefully arranged meats and cheeses. There were also strawberries, a honey pot, cashews, and slices of fresh bread.
Ford plucked a bottle of wine from the top of his fridge and yanked the cork from it with his teeth. Her stomach flipped as he sent it flying into the darkness near the floor. She wanted those teeth to graze her nipples, to drag along her neck until she couldn’t handle the anticipation of it anymore.
Not that she said any of that. She grabbed a slice of meat and a rough-hewn chunk of cheese to cram into her mouth while Ford poured the first glass of wine. Unfortunately, when she finished chewing, she opened her mouth.