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I suck in a little breath. There's something in his voice, his eyes, or maybe both, that heightens that feeling of danger. And excitement.
His eyes stayed locked on mine as he takes a big bite. Then his eyes slide shut, and he groans. He chews and swallows, then looks at me. “Holy shit. I’ve missed these so much.”
I can feel how wide and goofy my own grin is now. “I'm so glad you like them.”
“I fucking love—” He breaks off. “This is amazing. Thank you.”
“Of course.” I almost say it's no big deal or no problem, or don't mention it, but I really like how much he likes this.
He gets up, goes to the refrigerator and fills a glass of water. He comes back and hands it to me, then takes his seat again.
I looked at the glass in my hand, then up at him. “Did you mean to get this for yourself?”
He looks at the water almost as if he didn't remember getting it. “No, that's for you.”
He's always doing this. No matter where we go, he's always pressing glasses or bottles of water into my hand. He also seems to always have a shawl for me, no matter where we are. They don't always match what I'm wearing—most often he has my favorite jade green one—but it seems that whenever I might get chilly, he's there, draping one around my shoulders.
I've never asked him about this. Tonight seems the right time. “Why are you always giving me water?”
“Because you need it,” he says around another bite of chocolate cookie.
He's already almost through with one entire giant cookie.
“I know that you know a lot about me, but you can’t know when I’m thirsty, Jonah.”
“No, but I know you get recurrent UTIs. Water is important for avoiding those.”
I pause, realizing I'm lifting the glass of water to my mouth. I set it back down with a thunk. I'm staring at him. “What?”
He pushes the rest of the cookie into his mouth, wipes the corners of his lips, chews, and swallows. “You get chronic UTIs. You need to drink more water. You also need to drink less coffee, but I’m working on the water first.”
As I'm staring at him, I realize that I've actually not had a UTI in about seven months.
That has to be a coincidence.
Right?
I feel my cheeks heat. “How do you know about the UTIs?”
He reaches for another cookie. The second ugliest. “I know everything about you.”
“Including my personal medical history?”
His eyes come up to mine as he takes a bite out of the strawberries and cream cookie. I made a few of each of them, though I did make more of the three chocolate varieties.
“I have to know all about you to take care of you, Your Grace,” he says.
His voice is low and rumbly, and it affects my stomach like everything else has.
I cling to the idea, however, that he knows something very personal and somewhat embarrassing about me.
“That feels invasive.”
He nods. “I'm sure it does. I don't discuss it with other people. And it's strictly so that I can make sure you’re healthy.” He pauses and dips a finger in the chocolate frosting on his cookie. He lifts it to his mouth and licks it off.
I am startled by the way it makes my stomach, and okay, lower muscles too, clench.
Idefinitelydon't need to go to my doctor about hormonal issues.