Chapter 32
Astrid
I stayed wrapped in his arms, my heartbeats counting the seconds.
With Aeron around, my heart finally let go of the five-year-old memories. My mind stopped searching for the face from the train, and my fingers no longer felt that familiar ache holding this Cryptex box—still resting in my hand but no longer pulling me the way it did once.
He had emptied its meaning.
My stomach growled into the silence, like a bear cub whining for its mama .
Aeron tilted his head, lips twitching into a smirk. “Nice soundtrack.”
“It's because I didn’t eat anything since morning.”
He shot me a skeptical look—the kind that said, You, of all people, forgetting food? Unlikely.
“I was too lazy to cook.” I admitted sheepishly.
“What do you want to eat?”
“You’re cooking?” My eyes widened, excitement bubbling up. He didn't answer—just took my hand and pulled me toward the kitchen.
“Salad. Roasted potatoes,” I began. “Fried chicken. A sandwich. Maybe some soup? Honestly, everything.”
Aeron shot me a sideways glance, probably questioning whether asking me was his worst decision of the day.
“I haven’t eaten since morning,” I defended myself.
“And I’m your personal chef now, am I?”
My wish list was ambitious. My fridge? Not so much. A sad head of lettuce, a block of cheese, some lonely looking veggies, and thank goodness plenty of potatoes.
Aeron chopped the veggies, tossed them with a squeeze of lemon, and slid the bowl toward me, fork already in place. “Start with this.”
I took a bite. Damn. It tasted ridiculously good. I wasn’t sure if it was my hunger talking or Aeron secretly had magic hands, but either way, I made a mental note to hand over cooking duties to him in the future.
As Aeron sliced the veggies, completely focused, I had this irresistible urge to sabotage that concentration. I took a bite of salad, and held it temptingly in front of his mouth. Just as he leaned forward, lips parting, I pulled it back.
He silently dared me to try it again.
Obviously I did.
The second time, I brought the fork even closer, baiting him just enough, and quickly popped the bite into my own mouth.
My grin hadn’t even settled before his fingers caught my jaw, tilting my face up toward him. He leaned in, lips brushing softly, stealing back the salad... and every thought from my head.
“That’s cheating,” I protested, breathless.
He looked far too pleased with himself. “You're giving me cheating lectures? Remind me, who started this?”
I scoffed. “Big talk from someone who missed the fork, not once, but twice.”
“I didn’t say I was aiming for the fork.” He slid the potatoes into the bowl.
He was really good at making me lose arguments. I took the bowl from him and rinsed the potatoes under the faucet.
“Astrid.”
“Hmmm?” I glanced at him over my shoulder.
“Do you want to go to the place we first met?”
I stared at him in horror. “Hitchhiker’s Bend? Absolutely not. That creepy lady still makes guest appearances in my nightmares.”
He chuckled. “No, sweetheart. I meant the Orange Falls Express.”
“Wouldn't that make it meeting number two?” I reasoned.
He brushed my cheek, his touch lingering, like he was memorizing me. “Our first real meeting.”
“That’s right.” I nodded along. “We didn’t talk face-to-face at hitchhiker’s bend. so, it can’t doesn’t count.”
Also you were a jerk to me. But I kept that thought to myself. Why reopen old wounds and douse them with peroxide.
He gave me a half-smile, leaned in to kiss my forehead. “You’re right, we didn't talk.”
His actions and words were completely out of sync. His voice carried a joke, but his eyes hinted at something deeper. Wherever Aeron’s mind was wandering, I didn’t have the key to that secret world. And honestly, this wasn’t the time to crack the mystery—it was already past two.
“Oh shoot. Train starts at four. I need to get ready by_”
I started to walk off, but his fingers curled around my oversized orange tee.
“You look beautiful.”
Really? I glanced down—loose orange shirt, baggy black pants. I was practically swimming in fabric. But Aeron, persistent as ever, hadn’t let me change, saying he loved this shirt. So I gave up and decided to show up in whatever outfit he liked.
He started preparing the roasted potatoes and the soup simultaneously, multitasking like a masterchef contestant. I watched, amazed, and also offended by how effortlessly he made it look. It usually took me an hour just to decide where to start.
His phone rang. With his hands full, I slid my hand into his pocket, fingers strictly on a phone-retrieval mission, definitely not wandering into any dangerous territory.
“Nosy M.” I snickered, waving the screen at him. “What kind of shady spy name is this?
“The painfully accurate kind. Cut it.”
I didn’t.
“Astriiiiiid.” He dragged out my name, exasperated yet fond, like I were a puppy chewing on his favorite shoes.
I tapped the red button. Two seconds later, Nosy M was calling again. Aeron looked ready to dropkick the phone straight into the soup pot. I hit silent, now genuinely curious about this brave soul risking death by vegetable soup.
The potatoes came out of the oven, golden and crisp. Aeron leaned over the tray, testing them gently. Honestly, there should’ve been laws against looking this attractive while doing something as mundane as checking potatoes.
Was cooking always this enticing, or was this exclusively an Aeron thing?
I slid my arms around him from behind, pressing my cheek softly against his back. He jolted just slightly, enough for me to notice.
“Where did you learn to cook?” Not that he’d ever really need the skill. He could get a Michelin-star dinner delivered with just a snap of his fingers.
“I have lived in the wild and cold places for five years. Picked up a few survival skills.” He blew on the potato, then handed it over to me. “Careful. It’s still hot.”
I took a bite, and my taste buds immediately threw a party: crispy edges, tender center, absolute deliciousness. My eyes fluttered shut, and I let out a hum that unintentionally slipped into moan territory. Aeron’s body stiffened.
“It tastes delicious,” I murmured into his back, unable to resist teasing him just a little more. “Just like you.” I sprinkled that last bit in, earning myself another satisfying stiffening.
“Keep talking like that,” he rasped, his control slipping, “and the next thing in your mouth won’t be potatoes.”
“Oh?” I murmured, tracing slow circles over his shirt. “And how exactly am I talking?”
He set the potato tray onto the counter and raised his arm just enough to reach back, catching my waist. With one swift motion, he spun me around and pressed me against him. Our eyes locked in a heated stare for just a breath before his lips captured mine.
He frenzied our lips perfectly, nothing like last night’s clumsy attempt. He kissed me like he'd spent forever underwater and I was his first gasp of air.
Breaking away from my lips, he trailed kisses along my jaw, over my chin, then down to that sensitive spot on my neck that made my knees weak. His stubble scraped against my skin, rough, and prickly sending shivers racing through my body.
The counter pressed stubbornly into my back, frustratingly holding him out of reach. Aeron clearly felt it too, because with an impatient growl, he grabbed my hips and lifted me onto the countertop. The cool marble offered no relief—not compared to the heat of his mouth, driving me insane.
He bit gently into that tender spot between my neck and shoulder. I moaned. His tongue soothed the sting, leaving my skin tingling. Just when I thought I couldn't fall apart any further, his hands found my breasts, squeezing firmly.
I shuddered against him.
His thumbs brushed slowly, deliberately over my top, teasing me. I arched desperately toward his touch, craving more, so much more, and that's when I felt it. His hardness pressed firmly against my thigh.
Aeron must've realized I'd felt him, because he pulled back—his lips leaving mine reluctantly, his hands retreating to the safer territory of my waist, as if staying another second might push him over the edge.
He rested his forehead on mine, eyes closed, taking slow, uneven breaths.
My pulse pounded loudly in my ears. I wondered just how much control it was taking for him to hold himself back—probably as much as it took for me not to whisper, please don't stop.