She shrugged and looked away.
“A while, then. While you were married to Mark?”
Erin nodded.
“You didn’t like eating meat, but you kept eating it? Why?” He tapped his bearded chin. “You kept eating it because Mark did. Because you didn’t want something else to come between you.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“Like Hell it does. Come on.” He strode through the produce department before blazing a trail through the rest of the store, pointing out fresh collard greens, grass-fed butter, black-eyed peas, vegetable broth, new crop long-grain rice, aged cheddar, and hard apple cider, along with a handful of pantry staples.
She pushed the cart in his wake, a little self-conscious but full of curiosity, loading each item into the cart.
“All vegetarian, all delicious,” he said. “I’m beginning to dislike this ‘Mark’ character. In fact, I’m beginning to think he got off easy this morning.” A faraway look came into his eyes.
If getting your trousers removed in church was getting off easy, what would be the alternative?
Erin shuddered with a mixture of fear and secret glee.
When they arrived home, he allowed her to carry in the groceries out of necessity, but after that, he sent her off straight away, insisting that he didn’t need help in the kitchen and suggesting that she take a nice, long bubble bath.
Who was she to argue with a Great Earl of Hell?
Erin sank a little deeper into the bubble bath and listened to the cheery sound of pots and pans rattling in the kitchen.
Come to think of it, she’d had far more to argue about with Mark—even before the affair—than with a demon.
That didn’t say much for her marriage.
Then again, perhaps that wasn’t fair to Mark.
Perhaps—and this was a new and surprising thought—she didn’t care. Erin turned this thought over in her mind as she idly scooped up handfuls of bubbles.
Andromalius. It had a nice ring to it. She silently formed the word with her lips, drawing out each syllable. Did he have a last name?
Would he like one?
She reached for a cup and sluiced water through her hair.
Maybe revenge could take a little longer, after all. Surely there wasn’t any rush.
“Erin?” called Andy. “Dinner will be ready in twenty.”
“Okay,” she called through the bathroom door.
Erin pressed the lever to drain the tub, then stood up and reached for a large bath towel. She wrapped herself securely and opened the door into the master bedroom. The door from the master bedroom into the kitchen and dining area stood ajar.
“Ah, the water sprite emerges!” Andy, who had apparently borrowed one of her aprons, quickly wiped his hands and approached the bedroom. He had removed his red jacket and rolled up his crisp shirtsleeves. “Take your time,” he said, keeping his gaze averted as he pulled the door closed for her.
She turned the lock out of habit and let the towel fall to the floor. She picked up a long-neglected bottle of moisturizing oil and held it in her hands for a long moment before twisting the cap free. She spread the oil over her body, working it into her elbows, knees, and feet, then reached for a small bottle of perfume. A few dabs on her wrists, behind her ears, and on the backs of her knees sent the fresh scent winging through the room.
She put on the little black dress she’d rejected that morning.
Her hair, wet but no longer dripping, responded favorably to a wide-toothed comb, leaving it damp but shining and sleek.
Erin considered the makeup arrayed on her vanity table. Her hand skipped from one lipstick tube to another, flipping them upside-down to read the tiny labels until she found the one marked “Temptation” and swiped it on her lips with a steady hand.
It was exactly the shade of Andy’s red suit.
She padded barefoot across the carpet, unlocked the door, and emerged into the dining room.
Andy carefully laid the last of the feast on the dining room table. “Madam, may I present: seasoned apple cider collard greens and black-eyed peas over rice, accompanied by herbed cheddar biscuits and butter, paired with a crisp apple cider.”
Erin took in the sight of the beautifully laid table, complete with lit candles, and wondered how long it had been since she felt truly cared for.
He pulled out a chair for her.
She lowered herself into it. “Thank you,” she said, unable to muster the composure to add anything more elaborate.
Andy beamed. “My pleasure. Let’s eat!” He seated himself across from her and filled her plate from the serving dishes. “Good nutrition, that’s what you need.”
Erin smiled. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“Oh, you know. Around.”
“You’re too modest.”
“It’s my great failing as a demon. I should be far more boastful.” He shook his head ruefully.
They ate the vegetarian feast in silence for a few minutes.
“So, I was thinking about the whole revenge thing,” said Erin.
Andy laid down his fork and gave her his full attention.
“I was thinking,” Erin continued, “that if we really thought things out, we could come up with something special. Artistic, even.”
Andy’s eyes shone in the candlelight. “Great minds think alike. Today’s activities could be just an”—he paused to search for the right word—“amuse-bouche, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes,” said Erin, nodding solemnly and trying to look like she understood the French-sounding phrase he had just uttered. “That.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Andy, helping himself to another biscuit.
She watched him take a hearty bite. “But I do have to go in to work tomorrow.”
He swallowed. “And I don’t even know what you do for a living! Tell me all about it while I refill your glass.” He retrieved the cider and topped up both glasses.
“I’m a teacher,” she said.
“Oh, wow. Of small children? Miniature mortals?”
“Yes, the miniature ones. School’s not actually in session right now, but I got moved to a different grade level, so I was going to go in and get some of my stuff moved to my new classroom.”
“You want a hand?” He sipped from his glass.
“I’m … not sure I could explain you. And if my boxes started carrying themselves through the school, well—it might attract attention.”