Page 42 of The Hunter
“Dinner will be ready in ten.”
I didn’t wait to see her reaction. Didn’t trust myself to look too long.
I turned away and focused on the pot, checking on the chicken and dumplings. I could feel her watching me. Could feel the weight of her gaze on the back of my neck, crawling down my spine, unsettling me.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I heard the rustling of clothes, then her retreating footsteps. Cato followed her.
Of course he did.
At least I had a few minutes to regroup without her presence suffocating me. I took my time checking on the dumplings to make sure they were done. Then I spooned out two portions and set them on the dining table. I didn’t usually eat here, preferring the island whenever I came here for peace and quiet. But I needed space. Distance. A buffer.
Ariana returned exactly ten minutes later, barefoot and swimming in my sweatpants.
I dropped into the chair at the head of the table, not saying a word. Just picked up my spoon and started eating, pretending she wasn’t here.
But she was.
I couldn’t stop glancing her way as she sat across from me, still and tense, staring into her bowl like it might bite her.
“I apologize if chicken and dumplings isn’t up to your standards, princess.”
“It’s not that. I just…”
“What?” I snapped.
She hesitated. “You could have poisoned it.”
I lifted my gaze to hers. “You didn’t have any problem drinking the hot chocolate I made you earlier.”
She held her head high. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
A part of me wanted to tell her I didn’t care if she ate or not.
But she was already too skinny.
And I could hear her stomach growling.
On a long exhale, I reached across the table and grabbed her bowl, taking a bite before shoving it back. “Happy now? If Ididpoison it, which I didn’t, now we both die.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, still uncertain.
Heaving another sigh, I traded bowls with her.
“Are you okay with this or shall I make dinner all over again from scratch so you can supervise every step?”
“This is acceptable,” she stated, her shoulders back, spine straight.
She placed her napkin in her lap, spoon poised like she was preparing for a formal banquet.
“No need to worry about etiquette around me,” I rasped. “There’s no one to impress here except for Cato and me. And the dog licks his balls… Or where his balls used to be.”
“And you?”
“I can’t reach my balls to lick them.”
That earned me a smile, along with a soft laugh.
It shouldn’t have affected me, but that gentle sound somehow cut straight through me.
