Page 82 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
Back at the guesthouse,we unload the groceries together.
In the shared kitchen, we put everything away side by side.
“I’m making stew tonight,” Mary announces while putting the carrots into the fridge. “Want some?”
I look at her in surprise.
“You’d cook for me?”
She rolls her eyes.
“I don’t survive entirely on frozen meals. Unlike some people.”
“How do you know I eat frozen meals?”
She shrugs.
“The trash can.”
I’m not sure whether to feel embarrassed or amused.
Probably both.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll accept the stew, but only if you teach me how to make it.”
Mary smiles.
“Deal.”
The smell fillingthe kitchen later that evening is incredible.
Spices. Slow-cooked meat. Something deeply warm and comforting.
Mary stands at the stove stirring a large pot. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail now, and the polar bear robe has been replaced with an oversized sweatshirt.
“It’s almost ready,” she says without turning around.
I set the table.
Five minutes later, she places a steaming bowl of stew in front of me. Carrots. Potatoes. Tender meat falling apart under the fork.
I take one bite.
It’s delicious.
“This is good,” I say.
Mary sits across from me looking deeply pleased with herself.
“We make a pretty good team.”
We eat quietly for several minutes before Mary asks:
“How was your week?”
I glance up.
“Better than usual, I guess. At least three appointments weren’t canceled.”
