Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 198235 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 991(@200wpm)___ 793(@250wpm)___ 661(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 198235 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 991(@200wpm)___ 793(@250wpm)___ 661(@300wpm)
I’m halfway through stuffing the peppers, when he appears in front of me, leaning across the counter from the other side. ‘You’re doing a great job, lady.’
I pick my knife up and wield it at him. ‘Don’t patronise me.’ I’m shocked when his relaxed face flashes black and the knife is snatched from my hand.
‘Don’t fucking wave knives around, Ava!’
‘Sorry!’ I blurt, glancing at it in his hand and quickly appreciating my stupidity. It’s a nasty looking blade, and I’m brandishing it about like it’s a rhythmic gymnast’s ribbon. ‘I’m sorry.’ I repeat.
He places it down carefully and seems to gather himself. ‘It’s okay. Forget about it.’
I gesture towards the table for anything to do, other than apologise again. He doesn’t seem happy at all. ‘Do you want to lay the table?’
‘Sure,’ he says quietly, maybe thinking that he’s gone a bit over-the-top, I don’t know, but his withdrawn mood and my scorned state have formed a clear tension.
Jesse leaves me and quietly lays the table for two, while I finish preparing dinner.
‘Here,’ I slide his plate in front of him, but before I can pull my hand away, he grabs it and looks up at me with sorry eyes.
‘I over-reacted.’
I feel better already. ‘No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t be so careless.’
He smiles. ‘Sit,’ He pulls my chair out, but as soon as I’ve lowered myself, he stands. ‘We’re missing something.’ he informs me, striding off and leaving me wondering where he’s gone. It’s not long before he’s back, holding a candle in one hand and a remote control in the other. He finds some matches, lights the candle and places it in the centre of the table, then pushes a few buttons on the remote control, filling the villa with a distinct male voice. I recognise it immediately.
‘Mick Hucknell?’ I ask, a little surprised.
‘Or God. Either will do.’ He smiles as he takes his seat.
‘You’re willing to share your title?’ I ask, picking up my blunt knife and safe fork.
‘He’s worthy,’ he replies casually. ‘This looks good. Eat up.’
I acknowledge his nod at my plate with a small smile and carve my way through a piece of lamb, resisting the urge to brandish my knife again when Jesse leans over, looking at my meat. He’s checking how well it’s cooked. I help him out, turning my plate so he can see the centre of my lamb cutlet. He should be happy. I like my steak medium, but I love my lamb cooked thoroughly.
I stab a piece with my fork and bring it up to my lips. ‘May I?’ I ask, completely serious and with no hint of a smile on my face, which is good because I’m matching Jesse.
‘You may.’ he says, slicing through his own lamb and taking his first bite. He chews, nods and swallows. ‘You can cook, wife.’
‘I’ve never said I can’t. I just don’t like doing it.’
‘Not even for me?’
I flick him a look to gage his expression, and it’s as I feared. There is no humour and he’s not pouting at me playfully. I know where this is heading and whilst I do actually like cooking for him, I wouldn’t want to do it every day. ‘I don’t mind.’ I answer coolly.
‘I like you cooking for me,’ he muses. ‘It’s kind of normal.’
I pause and place my knife down. ‘Normal?’
‘Yes, normal. Like what normal married people do.’
‘Normal, like the wife cooks and the husband eats? That’s a bit chauvinistic.’ I laugh, but he doesn’t. He’s still concentrating on his careful cutting and eating. He wants normalcy? Then he should try being a bit normal himself. But do I want him to be normal? No, I don’t. He wouldn’t be Jesse if he was normal. We wouldn’t be us if he was normal. I take another bite of lamb to busy my mouth, instead of calling him a caveman. We’ll never be normal, not completely, and I hope we’re not.
He shrugs, rests his cutlery on the side of his plate and sits back in his chair, slowly raising his eyes to mine as he chews purposely slow. What’s going on in that head of his? The greenness of his gaze has me engrossed, making me slow my own chews down to mimic his. ‘Isn’t this normal?’ he asks, his voice low and throaty.
‘You mean having dinner together?’
‘Yes,’
I shrug a little. ‘Yes, this is normal.’
He nods mildly. ‘What about if I spread you on this table during dinner and fuck you? Would that be normal?’
My eyes widen a little in surprise. I don’t know why because that would be perfectly normal for us. ‘Our normal is you taking what you want, when you want it. You can chuck in a meal cooked by your wife, if you like.’
‘Good,’ He collects his knife and fork. ‘I like our normal.’