Kronos’s kiss still lingered on my lips as I shuffled through his kitchen, mentally cataloging what I needed for tonight’s dinner. This morning, he’d pressed me against the bedroom doorframe, hair still damp from the shower, his body radiating that supernatural warmth that always made me want to lean into him like a cat seeking sunshine.
“I’ll be late,” he’d chuckled against my mouth. “I’m meeting with the police about that bail jumper.”
I’d nodded, fingers tangling in his shirt to pull him back for one more kiss. “Are you going to tell me how you tracked him across three state lines in two days?”
His laugh had rumbled through both of us. “That’s a trade secret.” I melted as his tongue swirled the tip of my ear, catching the tip between his teeth. “Don’t wait up if I’m really late.”As if I’d let him leave now.
“I might have plans for you,” I’d countered.
“Hmm?”
“Dinner. Here. I’m cooking.” I said with a smile, tapping him on the nose. I had to get going, or I’d never make it before the store closed. I wished everything wouldn’t close early on Mondays, but that’s southern towns for you.
Something surprised and pleased had flickered across his face. “Are you now?” His kiss had deepened, plunging his tongue in and caressing the roof of my mouth and tongue. I would not let him leave. “Then I’ll definitely be home by seven.”
I pouted as he pulled back and slipped out of my arms. He’d left soon after, promising to text me when he got there and when he left so I’d be ready for him. I never asked him to do that…but I loved that he did.
Now, six hours later, I was actually going through with it. My cooking skills were barely passable, but even I could handle steaks, baked potatoes, and a simple salad. Something that wouldn’t embarrass me too badly compared to his gourmet meals, but would still show...what? That I cared? That I was trying?
The thought made my stomach flutter in a way that was becoming distressingly familiar. Over the past week, I’d practically lived at his place, only returning to my apartment above Twyla’s shop to grab fresh clothes or work on custom orders. The transition had been so smooth, so natural, that I hadn’t noticed until this morning when I realized I knew exactly where everything in his kitchen was kept.
“Boyfriend” seemed too juvenile a word for what Kronos was becoming to me. “Partner” felt too formal, too much like a business arrangement. Whatever we were, it had grown roots I hadn’t noticed planting.
I checked the shopping list on my phone again. Kronos had texted that he’d be home by seven after tracking down some bail jumper who’d tried skipping town. That gave me plenty of time to get what I needed and still prepare dinner before he arrived.
The butcher shop two blocks from his brownstone was my first stop—a place Kronos swore by for its locally sourced meats. The bell jingled as I pushed open the door, the familiar scent of sawdust and fresh meat greeting me.
“Well, if it isn’t the hunter’s shadow,” the old butcher called from behind the counter. His weathered face creased into a smile as I approached. The first time I’d come in, he’d taken one look at me and asked if I was “Orestes’s new pup.” I still wasn’t sure if that was a comment on our relationship or something more, knowing about Kronos’s nature.
“Two ribeye's, please,” I said, trying not to flush at the knowing gleam in his eye. “The thicker cut, if you have it.”
He nodded approvingly. “Special occasion?”
I shrugged, aiming for casual. “Just dinner.”
“Mmhmm.” His smile widened as he selected two perfect steaks from the display. “First time cooking for him, eh? Don’t worry, these beauties are so good you’d have to really try to mess ‘em up.”
I didn’t have to try. I had a habit of nearly burning down my apartment whenever I tried to cook. Twyla refused to replace my oven again. “That obvious, huh?”
“Son, I’ve been married forty-two years.” He wrapped the steaks in butcher paper with practiced movements. “I know that look. The ‘I want to do something nice but I’m scared I’ll screw it up’ look.”
I anxiously rubbed the back of my neck, shrugging in embarrassment. My gaze dropped to the floor, then darted around the room—anywhere but at their face. “Yeah, well...I’m not exactly a chef,” I mumbled, the words tumbling out too quickly and slightly too loud, followed by a stiff, uncomfortable laugh that died as soon as it escaped.
“Doesn’t matter.” He handed me the package with a wink. “Man, like Orestes? It’s the thought that counts. Though…” he leaned in conspiratorially, “a pinch of this wouldn’t hurt.” He slid a small container of seasoning across the counter. “On the house.”
The market for produce was next. I selected potatoes that looked about the right size for baking, running through the steps Kronos had shown me the last time we’d cooked together. Remembering his hands over mine, showing me how to check if something was done properly, made my chest feel tight in a way that was becoming familiar.
My phone buzzed as I was paying for the vegetables.
Twyla:Mira and I are going 2 try 2 C if we can get into that art exhibit tonight! E. Thalassos was rumored to have donated one of his paintings!! I’m so excited!
Something uncomfortable curled in my stomach. E. Thalassos, the siren she’d found on social media a few months ago. He had flowing pastel pink hair and a voice that made everyone within earshot hang on his every word. I’d only met him once, and hadn’t liked how fake he was. Something about him made me feel…unsettled.
Me:Be careful. Remember what I told you about sirens?
I trusted Twyla’s judgment, mostly. But sirens had reputations not unlike mermaids—beautiful, seductive, and with a nasty habit of luring unwary victims to watery graves. At least, that’s what the stories said. I wasn’t sure how much was fact versus fiction, but it made me concerned.
Twyla:OMFG ur such a worrier! Sirens haven’t drowned anybody in CENTURIES. It’s literally illegal now. You stress 2 much!
