Chapter 23
IT TASTES BETTER THAN IT LOOKS
RAYA
I can’t stop sucking deep lungfuls of air in through my nose.
Asher’s place smells amazing. Woodsy, cedar and smoke, bergamot and clean linens.
Like him, but more. Not to mention how cute the outside is with a large front window and bright blue door.
He has a stoop, for crying out loud, and a stars-damned flower box.
As we wander back through the living area, Asher guides me to the kitchen. Milton trails after us, his tail twitching as he eyes Asher, and I grin. I love cats, and Milton is gorgeous with his sleek black fur and pale green eyes. He almost looks like a tiny version of Jo’s panther form.
“You hungry?” Asher asks, and I shrug.
“I could eat.” While not a lie, it also doesn’t convey how ravenous I am. I only nibbled on my lunch today, my stomach a knot of nerves mixed with excited butterflies over our date tonight.
Unfortunately, said stomach decides to tattle on me with a loud gurgle. Ash raises an eyebrow, and even as I feel my cheeks heat I narrow my eyes, daring him to comment.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he turns to the fridge and opens it, then starts pulling out ingredients.
Flour, sugar, a bottle of pure maple syrup, baking powder, vanilla extract, an eighteen-count carton of eggs, five lemons, turkey bacon, two containers of raspberries, a bag of chocolate chips, salt, a carton of oat milk, a box of stick butter, and a bottle of sparkling apple juice.
All emerge with Asher placing each on the counter as he slowly empties what is surely his entire fridge.
“What… Why do you have everything in the fridge?” I say, tilting my head in what I know is a feline gesture, as I grew up surrounded by it.
Asher looks abashed for a moment, before asking what I mean.
“You just pulled flour, sugar, the chocolate chips… I mean, all of those things, out of the fridge.”
He looks between me and the pile of groceries, then picks up the bag of chocolate chips and simply holds it. It looks smaller than normal in his large hand.
“I’m guessing this doesn’t belong in the fridge?” he finally says, his tone implying this is a question rather than a statement.
“No,” I chuckle, “chocolate chips can go in the cupboard. Same with all the other dry ingredients.”
“Right. Well, as you may have guessed, I’m new to this whole food thing.”
“That’s okay. Here, let me help.” I step forward with my hand out, intending to wash the lemons, when he steps directly in front of me.
Asher’s massive body physically blocks me from the food and I take an unsteady step back to catch my balance.
“Nope. I’m doing this," he says, “I want to cook for you.”
I hold my hands up and back away.
“Okay, okay.” I’m smiling as I say it, loving that he’s so intent on taking care of me, even if he does put flour in the fridge. “No problem, tough guy.”
He narrows his eyes, correctly suspecting that I’m teasing him, so I offer my most blinding smile in return. It seems to work; he turns back to the food and starts sorting things, muttering under his breath.
I could swear I see the tips of his ears turn a little pink.
I can barely make out his lips moving, though I can’t hear what he’s saying.
I glance at Milton, but he flicks his tail as his eyes track Asher’s hands, not that he could actually communicate with me, but I was kind of hoping for something.
Asher washes the lemons, using much more dish soap than necessary, but I hold my tongue, pushing it into my cheek to avoid giving away my amusement.
“So what are we having anyway?” I ask as he rinses the raspberries.
“Pancakes.” Asher’s voice is gruff, and he drags a hand through his hair, mussing it in the most enticing way as he surveys the pile of ingredients in front of him. “And such.”
“Uh huh, okay well, I can help.” I try to rescue him and move to grab a large mixing bowl on the counter behind him when he intercepts me again.
“Nuh uh, little shifter,” he growls, “I told you, I’m doing this.”
With that, his hands circle my hips and Asher lifts me off my feet.
I don’t have time to do more than blink before he drops me onto the counter on the other side of the sink—where I can’t reach any of the food or cooking utensils.
I cross my arms over my chest, sticking my bottom lip out in an effort to cover my true heated reaction to that outrageous display of manhandling.
This backfires spectacularly when Asher sees my pouty lip and takes it as an invitation to suck it into his own mouth. I lean into him with a moan, feeling the light scrape of his fangs against my lip. My body follows as he steps away and I grin at his satisfied look.
“Alright then, chef. What’s next?” I say, my stomach not letting me forget what my priority should be right now.
Asher pauses in front of his prep station, hands on his hips as he inspects the display of foods that might as well be completely foreign to him.
He snags the carton of eggs, then decisively opens it and begins to pull one out, to which I start coughing dramatically as I shake my head.
Milton leaps onto the counter with a meow, then sits down right next to me, emphasizing our combined disapproval.
Asher side-eyes us, then slowly puts the egg back and moves his hand away. When I straighten and stop coughing, Asher purses his lips in annoyance and sends a glare my way.
“Fine," he says, and pulls out his phone. With only a few quick taps, he has a video playing.
“What are you doing?” I ask, straining to see what he’s watching.
“I saved some of the YouTubes to follow," he mutters, and my eyes nearly bug out of my head.
One, because he used “YouTube” in the plural which indicates he watched multiple videos in preparation for cooking for me, and two, because he used “YouTube” in the plural and that’s not a thing.
“The YouTubes?” I cackle as my eyebrows shoot up. “Stars, how freaking old are you?”
When Asher turns his eyes on me this time, I’m reminded of the predator he keeps leashed inside at all times. Milton bails, leaping off the counter and darting through the doorway.
“Keep it up, little shifter," Asher says, his voice low and lethal. “See what happens.”
I press my thighs together and bite my lip when the hint of danger sends a thrill racing down my spine. Asher freezes and turns his head the slightest bit, which makes me realize my heart rate spiked as well.
One step has him back in front of me and he tips his chin down, angling himself over me as he runs his tongue along his fangs.
My breath freezes in my lungs. I slowly raise my eyes from his chest up along the line of his throat to his chin, across his lips, and finally I meet his striking blue eyes as I peek up at him through my lashes.
He raises one hand, palm skating up my arm and along the side of my throat, leaving goosebumps in its wake, only to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. Then he steps back, and presses play on the video.
I squeak a protest as he pulls away, and I just know he’s smirking.
He’s such a self-satisfied prick sometimes.
With a huff, I lean back on my hands and swing my feet, the annoyance quickly draining from my body as I watch him work.
“Is it supposed to smell like that?” he asks, nose wrinkling as he pokes the lumpy mass with a spoon. “And look like that? There’s no way this is normal.”
I crack up. This is way too fun.
“Yes," I reply. “It’s perfectly normal. A few lumps are good, actually.”
Asher stares at me for a moment.
“You’re lying.”
I laugh again and shake my head, eyes wide with sincerity.
“And you… like it. You want to eat this?” His gaze darts skeptically between me and the lumpy batter, and I nod my head vigorously.
“I really, really do. Especially once you fold in those chocolate chips and grill it up. Mmmm, I can’t wait.”
Turns out, lemon chocolate chip pancakes with a raspberry compote, maple syrup, side of slightly burnt turkey bacon, and sparkling apple juice is my all time favorite meal, ever. Especially eaten in front of a roaring fire with the rain pattering lightly outside a cracked open window.
“Moon above, these are so good, I can’t stop.
” I don’t contain my moan of appreciation, and I’m pretty sure Asher doesn’t mind if the heat in his eyes is any indication.
I even convince him to try a couple bites, though he doesn’t seem as impressed with his cooking as I am, opting to stick with his bottle of blood instead.
I’m thankful I’ve gotten used to Zuri drinking blood all the time so it doesn’t phase me anymore.
“You could open a brunch place. I’d go every day," I say around a bite of crunchy bacon. “I love brunch.”
“I know," he murmurs, and I stop chewing to look at him. “That’s why I went for breakfast foods. You’ve mentioned it a couple times.”
Gulping down my mouthful, I turn my attention to him.
“That’s… really thoughtful," I say. “Thank you.”
“Plus, it seemed easier than real food.” He lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug like he’s trying to play it off as no big deal, but I’m not fooled. This supposedly monstrous vampire is an honest to goodness softie on the inside. I’m ninety percent sure of it at this point.
Patting my food baby, I lean back and find his arm already around me.
“That was seriously so good.”
He nuzzles his nose into my hair before kissing my temple.
“I’m glad you liked it, sunshine.”
“Asher.” I groan as I go to lay down on the couch. “I know you probably wanted to do more than just hang out tonight, but I ate so much. I don’t think I can move for a while. I’m sorry.”
“If you’re apologizing for not wanting to have sex, please don’t," he replies, almost seeming offended. “That’s not why I invited you over.”
“It’s not?”
“I mean, I’d never say no to you if you wanted to, but no. I wanted to take care of you, spend time together relaxing, and it seems I’ve accomplished that goal. The rest of the night can be whatever you want.”
“Oh, you definitely did," I say. “I haven’t been so stuffed in ages.”
“Okay, well…” His eyes have a spark of mischief as he holds in a sly grin. “Maybe take it easy on the innuendos, this poor old man can’t handle your teasing.”
I snort a laugh, then slap my hand over my mouth because that was possibly the most unattractive noise I’ve ever made. Also, I can’t believe Asher is casually joking around with me. When he grins in delight, I let my laugh ring out again, extending my leg to poke a toe at his biceps.
Asher snatches my foot in response, pulling it onto his lap and digging his strong fingers into my calf muscle with slow circles and deep strokes. I sink back into his couch and close my eyes, reveling in the feel of his hands on me as the warm crackle of the fire lulls me into a peaceful nap.