“Sure. I could eat.” I lean my elbows against the counter watching her stick the dish in the microwave and hit a few buttons.
“That’s it, a few beeps and dinner’s ready?” I tease.
“I don’t have a full staff, sorry.” She grabs a fork from the drawer and hands it to me.
“You do have a full staff. They’re at home, though.”
She rolls her eyes. “Relentless.”
The microwavedings, and she grabs the dish with her bare hand. Hissing from the sting of it, she drops it and jumps back. It crashes to the floor, and the glass breaks, sending shards of glass and spaghetti everywhere.
“Vee!” Jumping over the mess, I grab her wrist, twisting it to inspect her hand. “You burned yourself.”
“It’s not bad.” She argues as I put her hand under a stream of cold water. “It’s just a little red.”
“Are you cut?” I search her bare feet, but with the red sauce from the pasta, I can’t tell if there’s any blood.
“Ivan. I’m fine.” She touches my shoulder. “It’s not the first time I’ve burned myself with that microwave.”
Grabbing her by the waist, I hoist her up onto the counter. “Keep it under the water.” I push her hand back beneath the stream.
“I’m not cut.” She leans forward to argue with me while I carefully wipe away the sauce from her feet with the kitchen towel.
She’s right, there’s nothing other than some redness from the hot tomato sauce splashing across her bare feet.
I turn off the water and inspect her hand again.
“You’re a danger to yourself, do you know that?” I kiss her palm, on the spot that’s still red, then I move to kiss the thin white scar from where the beer steins cut her at Obsidian over a month ago.
“I’ve managed this far perfectly fine.”
“There’s sauce all over your leggings. Go take them off, and I’ll get this cleaned up.” I scoop her off the counter and carry her over the broken glass.
“You’re going to clean my kitchen?” She feigns shock.
“Take off the pants.” I order with a slap to her ass. She yelps, and it’s the prettiest sound I’ve heard all day.
“Don’t you mean change my pants?”
“No.” I wink.
“Relentless.” She laughs, disappearing into her bedroom.
I finish cleaning up the sauce and throwing away the broken glass, then move back to the living room. Turning on the television, I sink into the couch.
“You watch the news?” Vee reappears, this time in a night shirt and a pair of cotton boxer shorts.
“I said to take off the pants.”
She tugs at the hem of the shorts. “I did.”
“Smart ass.” I drape my arm over the back of her couch, and she plops herself beside me, snuggling into me.
“Did you find out about the girlfriend? The one whose boyfriend died in your warehouse fire?” she says.
“I did. She’s being taken care of. The funeral is paid for, and her house is paid off.”
“Good,” she sighs. “I was thinking about her this afternoon.”
