Page 49 of Final Shift
“Good, right?”
Ethan grunted at my magical martinis. “How long have you experienced cold sensitivity?”
I shrugged. “A while now.”
Ethan's lips thinned. “Moira.”
“Since the night Evie killed Finn.”
Ethan swore. “Why haven't you said anything?”
The Lord had brought me cashmere on a cold night not too long ago. He cared in a strange way, or maybe he was just kind. Ethan was a puzzle where none of the pieces fit.
“Why would I?”
The air fryer dinged. Sliding past him, I grabbed the potholder and took out the cookies, tapping them with my finger to make sure they were the perfect consistency.
“Those smell amazing,” Ethan said grumpily.
I put four on a plate for him and slid them over.
Ethan looked at the cookies, then looked at my plate. “You only have two.”
“I only want two.” Sometimes I ate a lot, mostly when I used a lot of magic. I could always eat more than the average person, but I lived alone, and there was something unbearably sad about eating dinner with no one to share it with.
That adorable furrow in his brow wrinkled again. “You should eat more.”
“I had some cookies this morning,” I admitted.
Ethan hesitated to take one of the cookies.
“Eat. I'll have dinner later. This is a pre-dinner snack.”
Ethan gave me a long look but took one of the cookies. His teeth were white and straight, and the way he closed his eyes when that white chocolate hit his taste buds…
I had to look away.
He'd already eaten two by the time I finished one. On his third, I poured the rest of the martini mix into our glasses, making sure it was even.
“You still haven't answered my question.”
Ethan took a sip of his martini and watched me. “I want you to come to my territory for a little while.”
The cookie piece fell from my hand and clattered to the plate. “Excuse me?”
A small flash of a smile. “You heard me, Moira.”
I shook my head. “Why would I do that?”
He took a slow bite of his cookie. “I can think of a few reasons.”
Talking to him was like pulling teeth sometimes. “Such as?”
“You make excellent cookies, and I don't have a chef.”
My brows drew together. “You want me to bake for you?”
“You're intelligent and beautiful.”
