Page 50 of Protected from Malice
Eden casts a skeptical look around the kitchen. “We don’t have any ingredients, Rafe. Just some bags of chips and water.”
“We don’t have ingredients right now,” I correct. “But we will.”
I slide my phone from my pocket and dial the number for the front desk, then ask them to transfer me to room service. Once I’m connected, I ask them to send up a carton of eggs, uncooked bacon, half a dozen slices of toast, fresh fruit, and a couple of avocados, along with several more pans of different sizes.
Once I hang up, Eden asks with a hint of a smile, “Isn’t room service supposed to cook the foodforyou?”
“Typically.” I push a rogue curl away from her forehead. “But not this time. This time, we’re cooking brunch together. Then we’re going to eat it in front of the TV while we watch the rest of the frog jumping episode. And if we have time, we’ll move on to the episode about the yo-yo competitions.”
Eden studies me for a moment. Thoughts work in her eyes. “When you saywe’recooking, you mean you, right? Because I think we both know I’m not much of a cook.”
“I’ll cook. You’ll be my sous chef.” Though most people wouldn’t expect it from me, I like cooking. It’s relaxing. And the end result is infinitely better than heating up bland frozen dinners, which is what a lot of my single friends do.
She takes a step closer. Her head tilts back so she can meet my gaze. “Can we make extra cheesy eggs? With ketchup?”
“With ketchup?” I give her a look of mock disgust. “I still don’t know how you can stand that.”
Her tiny smile expands. “I like it. So, can we?”
As I look at her sweet face, with those gorgeous blue eyes glued to mine and her cheeks pinking up with hopeful pleasure, my heart flips. Squeezes. Slams hard in my chest.
Ah, fuck.
I know I shouldn’t feel like this.
It’s the wrong time. The wrong place. Shit. I’m the wrongperson.
“Yes,” I tell her. “Of course we can.”
And then.
She steps into me.
Loops her arms around my waist.
Her head rests on my chest, her soft curls brushing my chin.
My arms come around her automatically.
Desperately.
Like she’s more important than breathing.
“Thank you,” Eden says softly, “for everything.”
I know I’m not right for her. Not now. Not ever.
But, fuck.
I wish I was.
CHAPTER 9
EDEN
I wishI could go back to three hours ago.
Three hours ago, it was still just me and Rafe. Cooking together, our hands brushing as we reached across the counter, his body bumping against mine every time we tried to navigate the tiny kitchen. I could steal quick, admiring glances at him as he prepared our food and I pretended to help but really did my best to stay out of the way.
