Page 72 of Grin and Bear It

My voice faltered then and Tyson’s grin widened.

“And…?”

“And then you come and feed me?” I finished hastily.

“We look after you,” he corrected. “Whenever and wherever you let us. So are you going to let me in to fix you a bowl of the best damn chilli you’ve ever tasted, or what?”

I pulled back from the door then, letting him in. It felt petty and small to be quibbling about whether or not I should accept or reject his offer, especially as it didn’t need to go any further than this. My stomach grumbled in agreement, pretty sure whatever was in that bag was better than my scrambled eggs.

It was.

“Oh my god…” I stepped closer as he set the containers in the bag out of the bench, the waft I got from the chilli when he pulled off the lid having my mouth watering. “Why do I think that’s a step up from the crap I make?”

“If I look in your pantry I’m gonna find packets of that damn Old El Paso taco seasoning, aren’t I?” he said, shooting me a sidelong look.

“Maybe…”

“Well, try this and tell me if you can taste the difference.”

He found a spoon and he held it out for me to taste and I moved forward, then stopped myself.

“Do you guys have some kind of feeder fetish, because I am not into that. Lin wanted me to eat from his hand too.”

“Food is important to shifters. It’s one of the ways we forge bonds, through family, when forming a sleuth.” Those eyes rolled up to meet mine. “And especially when courting our mates. If we’re feeding you, we’re looking after you, showing that we care for you, making you happy.” He twisted his wrist slightly, drawing my focus back to the spoon. “You don’t have to…”

His voice trailed away as I leaned in and then took the mouthful of chilli from the spoon.

Wow.

I said just that once I swallowed, blinking a little when the heat hit, but before that? Rich, savoury meat flavoured with a complex blend of herbs and spices, my tastebuds raced to process each one of them before the mouthful was gone and I was leaning in for more.

“You like it?” he asked. I nodded enthusiastically. “Alright, so where are the bowls at?”

He went to open my kitchen cupboards, but I stepped in hurriedly. They were crammed full of shit that I needed to sort out, but never did and right now, I didn’t want him seeing that. I picked a couple of clean bowls off the drying rack and handed them to him, then watched him move with well-practised ease, serving the two of us up a bowl each. Then he looked at me, enquiringly.

“So should we sit at the table or…?”

This was why I didn’t want them here. It's why I’d put up with guys like Derek for so long. He knew better than to look at my dining room table or to mention the mess there. He didn’t much care about the state of the house, as long as he could find a spot on my couch or in my bed and that he had control of the remote. It helped me avoid things like this.

Tyson’s eyebrows shot up and I hated it, hated the way he looked at the clutter all over my dining room table.

“Ah, just ignore the doom piles,” I said with a hasty laugh, trying to redirect him towards the lounge room.

“What’s a doom pile?” he asked as he settled against the kitchen benches, spoon and bowl in hand. As I tried to formulate a response that wasn’t heinously embarrassing, he took a bite of his chilli, chewing thoughtfully.

“Nothing!” I replied brightly. “I’m just a bit of a mess.”

“Do you want me to help you organise that?”

The question was an innocent one, but it cut me deep each time someone offered.

“No, no, I want you to ignore it exists.” I said that through gritted teeth, appetite deserting me. I hefted the bowl of food awkwardly, no longer wanting to eat a spoonful.

“OK,” he responded. I let out a small internal sigh. “Why?”

The question was a mild one, no interrogative tone, but I felt like I was strapped to a chair, a bright light shining in my eyes. I smiled as a defensive measure, trying to mask the discomfort I felt before turning his words against him.

“Why do you need to know? I’m just not much of a housekeeper. Sorry to break it to you, but if you were hoping for a perfect mate—”

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