Page 76 of 'Til All the Seas Run Dry

He knew what she’d been about to say, though. Of course he did. Because for all that she liked to tell herself that he didn’t know her anymore, he did. Callum stood frozen in front of her, his eyes sad and his fists clenched.

“Besides,” she began again, reaching for one of his hands, “there’s more than one way to crack an egg.”

A hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. More of an impression of a desire to smile.

“Isnae the expression that there’s more than one way to skin a cat?”

He had stepped closer, until he was nearly standing between her spread knees. She held his calloused, heavy hand in hers. She wanted to pull him closer still, until he was nestled against her. But the lid of the pot began to rattle as the water boiled, and Callum stepped away, looking remorseful.

“The water is ready.”

“Sure,” she replied softly.

Jory took another sip of her wine as she watched him open a box of linguine and pour the contents into the boiling water, stirring it gently with a wooden spoon. She slid off the barstool and moved to his side, wanting to be closer to him as much as she wanted to see what the sauce looked like simmering in the pot.

“It smells amazing,” she said. She’d said it before, but it bore repeating. “I wish you could enjoy it too.”

“I’ll enjoy watching you enjoy it.”

Heat flooded her body.

“Can I watch you cook?”

“I thought you already were,” he said with a laugh.

“Closer,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Callum had been stirring the pasta again, but his hand froze, and before she could blink—she really would never get used to that—he had abandoned the pot of pasta, picked her up, and deposited her on the counter next to the stove. His hands held her waist gently, and he stood in the empty space between her knees, his hips pressed against the counter’s edge. She hadn’t even had time to shriek in surprise.

“How’s that?” he asked, and his gray eyes looked so bright with the stove light shining.

“Best seat in the house,” she said with a smile.

“Well, I dinnae ken that it’s thebestseat.”

More heat. More blush. Her core clenched and her insides tightened, and in that moment she wanted nothing more than to reach over, turn off the stove, tell him to forget about dinner, and drag him downstairs and see exactly what kind of seating he thought might be better.

“Would you like a taste?” Callum asked.

She stared blankly at him.

“Of the sauce? Would you like a taste of the sauce, Jory?”

“Oh,” she answered, more a rush of breath than a word, really, and nodded.

Callum smiled and opened a drawer without looking, pulling out a teaspoon. He dipped it into the simmering sauce and held it before his lips, blowing on it. He was so close that Jory could feel the stream of air against her face, bringing with it the smell of tomato, onion, garlic. The spoon looked tiny balanced between his thumb and forefinger, and she remembered so many times being amused by all the things made to seem smaller than they were by his presence.

“Taste,” he said in a husky whisper, and Jory opened her mouth, leaning forward and closing her lips around the spoon. The flavor burst across her tongue. She swallowed and then he was there, his mouth against hers, his tongue sliding against her lips.

He groaned.

“It tastes good. I havenae ever tasted it before,” he said as he kissed her.

“But you can’t,” Jory said with a gasp.

“I cannae eat it. But oh, Jory, I can taste it. For the first time, I can taste it.”

He gripped the spoon in one hand and her thigh in the other.