His response troubles me.
I decide my stomach feels fine—it wasn’t a bad burn, really. I set the ribeye on the counter and push to my feet, being mindful not to glance in Deek’s direction as I take down my cast iron pan and get it heating on the stove.
“You don’t have to cook for me,” Deek starts, being so polite.
“Eh, I’m up and you’re still a guest until Monday, so let me make you supper. You like garlic?”
“Garlic?” Deek asks—and he sounds so thrown that his voice isn’t hesitant at all.
I almost turn to look at him, to make eye contact, but I catch myself just in time. I keep my gaze firmly on my hands as I grab garlic and retrieve butter from the fridge. “Yep. Ever had pan-seared butter steak?”
“No.”
“It will make you see heaven. Want to try it?”
I feel like I’ve won something when I catch the sound of a smile in Deek’s reply. “Okay. Thanks… Susan.”
It seems like the quiet is becoming more soothing than tense as I prep the ingredients. Absently, I murmur, “Want broccoli or potatoes?”
“Can… May I have both?”
“Sure thing.” I grab a lemon to change the recipe to lemon garlic butter. It’ll go great with the potatoes, but it will change his world when it’s coating the broccoli.
The sound of the meat frying is food-music to my ears, and the smell makes my stomach perk up. But I never eat this late. And a meal this heavy? If I wolf down—
...Ha.
If I wolf down any, I’ll regret it.
But it really does smell divine. It isn’t long before Deek asks raggedly, “Why does that smell so good?”
Privately, I smile. “That nutty flavor?”
“Yes,” he agrees with feeling.
“It’s browned butter. When it heats, it turns to magic. Plus the lemon and garlic and you’ve got—”
“I’m going to eat the whole pan. Iron included,” he declares.
I laugh at that, and flip his steak. I keep flipping it, doing it often enough that a crust forms, which will keep the meat nice and moist inside. “How done do you want it to be?” I ask.
“Anything,” he says. Then he amends, “I prefer well-done, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“Not at all. Although… can I make a comment without coming off as insensitive or rude?”
“I don’t think you’re rude,” he says with a surprising amount of conviction. “Or insensitive.”
“In popular media, werewolves… eat food raw,” I start carefully. “Is it normal to eat meat well-done then, or…?” Hurriedly, I add, “And you can tell me to mind my own business.”
I’m very careful to keep my eyes on the food and not on him, and my mindfulness is rewarded with Deek sounding so relaxed you’d think he was a normal person, not a man who was so stressed he was turning into a wolf a few short hours ago.
“We mostly like to cook our meat when we’re in human form. When we’re wolves though…”
“Different rules?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks for satisfying my curiosity,” I tell him brightly. I add the broccoli, turning all the heads until they’re buttered and crisping.
“You’re welcome.”
I get a plate down from the cupboard and fish a steak knife and fork out of the silverware drawer. “Do you have any questions so far?”
“I don’t know yet.”
I tip my head, keeping my attention down. “Fair enough. And this is done.” I serve it all up on the plate and move the pan to a cool burner.
“It smells wonderful,” he praises. Hungrily, he adds, “Looks wonderful too.”
I grin at the yearning in his voice. “Want to eat alone?”
I’m surprised by the pause. I’m even more surprised when he ventures, “No… I don’t mind if you stay. If you like.”
“I’d love to,” I tell him. But then I’m not sure where I should stand or if I should sit. Will it make him too uncomfortable to have me sitting across from him? I decide to ask. “Where would you like to eat? Standing at the counter, sitting at the bar…”
“Across from you at the bar is fine,” he murmurs, just the littlest bit of hesitation creeping back into his voice.
But he’s making an effort. And it really would make me feel better to know him better before I leave Maggie alone in his care.
I rearrange the stools so that he has one on his side of the bar before I plop down and sip my now-cool tea. When Deek tentatively sinks onto the seat, I keep my stare focused on the fridge which is off to the side of him. It helps that I purposely positioned his stool so that we aren’t directly across from each other.
Deek slowly cuts into his steak, and the moment he fits that first bite into his mouth to savor—
The groan he lets out is heartfelt and gratifying. “Frigging hell,” he moans around his mouthful, prompting me to burst out laughing.
“Sorry,” he grunts sheepishly. He tries a broccoli crown next and sounds like he could cry. “I didn’t know food could taste like this…”
“It’s the browned butter,” I say sagely. “Tomorrow I can make you cookies with it that will change your life.”
He actually woofs.
Grinning into my tea, I take a breath. “Speaking of tomorrow. Let’s see, that’s Sunday, so just let me know where I should take you for church. And then Monday, I leave for my shift at seven-thirty. Charlotte leaves at about the same time for school. It’s the tail end of summer break, and I don’t know how much Finn told you, but Maggie will be home all day with you.”
When Deek continues taking slow, savoring bites of his food rather than answering, like he can’t tear himself away from it, I smile and keep talking. “Charlotte will be back and forth. She’s got a lot of activities she’s involved in this year, including academic decathlon meetings. Her friend Ginny is here whenever Charlotte is, just so you know. But she’s a good kid.” She has a shit parent, but she’s a good kid.
Deek catches me off guard by asking, “What was that look?”
Startled, my eyes fly to his, effectively chasing his gaze away—but not before I catch his eyes for one tiny moment.
They’re butterscotch. His eyes are a brown sugar gold, and they are as lovely as his face is. He’s not as overtly pretty as Finn, but as far as ruggedly handsome goes, he’s doing just fine. In other words, no one in their right mind would kick him out of bed.
Don’t think of your borrowed nanny in bed—that’s so inappropriate!
“Ah,” I pip, trying to regain my equilibrium. “Ginny.” I force my eyes off of his popping and clenching jaw and move it back to the safety of the fridge, which has magnets that spell Welcome, Deek! on it. I didn’t even realize Maggie had done that before bed, but that was sweet of her. Maggie knows how to spell her name and your typical consonant-vowel-consonant words, so I think Charlotte must have helped.
That was very sweet of Charlotte too.
“What about Ginny?” Deek prompts softly. “Your face looked… sad.”
I grimace and almost make the mistake of glancing at him again, but I manage to catch myself. “She’s… her mom needs help. Ginny’s mom tells everyone she meets that the love of her life died before Ginny was born, and losing him ruined her. And maybe it did. She must have really loved him because she’s gone off the rails. I knew her when we were growing up and she wasn’t a bad person. But now she struggles with serious addiction problems. And she attracts the worst boyfriends. I think—” I hesitate. I shake my head a little. “I think some of them have hurt Ginny.”