Page 54 of Eternal

She makes it look calm, stirring, reaching for spices, brushing a stray hair back with the back of her wrist. Effortless. I shouldn’t be watching her like this, but I can’t help it.

“Do you cook?” she asks suddenly, pulling me out of whatever the hell this moment is.

I blink. “What?”

She smirks like she caught me red-handed thinking about her. “I asked you if you cook. Real meals, I mean.”

I lean in a little, “Define ‘real meal.’ ”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a tug at the corner of her lips. “Anything that doesn’t involve a microwave and no plate.”

“Well, then. Guess I’m out.”

She snorts, shaking her head. “Maybe it’s time you learn,” she says, and her voice is light, but there’s something in it that feels like an invitation.

I force out a laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll stick to takeout with my beautiful partner in crime.”

Her eyes flick to mine, “Maybe the partner in question would love to teach you how to cook.”

My partner…

I clear my throat, shrugging. “Okay then. If my partner wants it, then I want it too.”

I watch her move around the kitchen, completely in her element. The calm slice of the knife against the cutting board, the gentle sizzle of whatever she’s tossing into the pan, it all comes naturally to her. I kind of like it. The whole atmosphere. Her being excited to show me something about her.

I just sit back and watch, arms crossed, not even trying to hide my amusement.

She glances over her shoulder, catching my eye. “What? You gonna help or just sit there and stare at my ass?”

I chuckle, a little too loud, just to annoy her. “I am helping by staring at it. You wouldn’t want me to mess this up.”

“Oh, really? And how exactly are you ‘helping’ ?”

I lean back in the chair, and smile. “I’m providing moral support,” I say, completely serious. “This looks like a delicate operation. I wouldn’t want to throw off your perfect process.”

“You know, I hate you, right?”

I laugh, and it's a little mocking. “Yeah, I know. I’m enjoying the view, can’t help it.”

She shoots me a glare, but it’s half-hearted, like she can’t decide whether to be pissed or amused. “So, that’s it, you’re simply gonna sit there, watch me work, and laugh at me?”

“Exactly,” I say, not even bothering to hide the grin spreading across my face. “You’re doing fine on your own. Besides, watching you get all flustered is the best part of being here.”

She stops for a second, one hand on her hip as she turns to face me. “Flustered? I’m not flustered. I’m just?—”

“Just what?” I tease, leaning forward and hooking my fingers between the waistband of her shorts and her hips, pulling her a little closer.

She narrows her eyes, but there’s a flicker of laughter in them.

“Just making the most complicated dish in the world for some ungrateful guy who won’t lift a finger? ”

“Staring at my ass first then mocking my kindness?” she mutters. Then she glances down, eyes flicking to my hand. “And why is your hand on my skin, you creep?”

I smirk, holding her gaze. “What’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine, partner. So technically, I’m touching my skin.”

She lets out a dramatic sigh and turns back to the stove, but I catch the way her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile.

“God, you’re tiring,” she mutters, shaking her head.

“Excuse me?” I raise an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She doesn’t reply, but I can tell she’s biting back a laugh.

Voron might be my kind of kryptonite. Maybe this is a test, from whoever the fuck is watching, to see if I’m a machine or if there’s something human left in me.

Because she’s my favorite distraction. The kind that doesn’t only pull your focus, it keeps it. She’s like an unsteady rhythm in my chest, not the anxious kind, but the rush that comes when you’re on the edge of something you want. When you know you shouldn’t reach for it, but you ache to.

And that’s the truth.

Watching her like this so focused, it does something to me. Even when she’s mad at me, even when she doesn’t realize how deep she’s already in my head. There’s no way I’m letting her go easily.

Hours pass in conversation, her voice soft, gentle, explaining the spices she uses, techniques to make sure everything is okay, making me watch, and I do.

I watch the way her hands move, the way her eyes flicker with something knowing, the way she doesn’t hesitate before shoving me out of the kitchen and telling me to sit.

And I listen.

When she finally brings the plates, I let my gaze drop to the dish in front of me, the scent fills the room, warm, savory. And she made it. For me .

I want to say something. Anything.

But the words get stuck in my throat.

She doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe she does and still lets me sit in it.

I shift, force myself to pick up my fork.

But instead of eating, I watch her. Like a fucking creep.

I watch the way her lashes cast shadows against her cheek, the way her scar reddens slightly in the warmth of the kitchen, the way that tiny dimple flickers at the corner of her mouth when she presses her lips together.

She looks up suddenly, catching me. I don’t look away.

And for some reason, neither does she.

Something settles between us. Something warm, something ours .

I lean back in the chair, staring at the bowl in front of me. Mansaf.

Never had it before, and I’m not sure what to expect. She places it in front of me, then slides into her seat across from me. Her eyes are on me, waiting for a reaction.

“Thank you, partner,” I say.

She shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Hope you like it.”

“Anything that comes from you is already a winner in my book.”

I drop my gaze first, stabbing my fork into the food and then I eat it. The first bite is heaven .

I exhale slowly, shaking my head. “Okay. You win.”

She grins, like she knew she would. “Told you.”

I don’t want to walk away from this. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I dig again into the food, and it’s better than my first bite. The flavors hit me, rich and bold, like nothing I’ve tasted in a long time. It’s not just food; it’s something deeper. It feels like... home . And I’m not sure how to deal with that feeling.

The rice is perfect, the lamb is delicious, and the sauce is incredible.

I glance up at her, mouth half-full, “This... is seriously good. You didn’t sneak anything weird in there, did you? No poison?”

She laughs softly. God, I love that sound. It makes everything feel warmer. “So cautious,” she says. “It’s still hot, though. Careful, or the poison won’t even have time to kick in.”

I lean back in my chair, grinning like an idiot. “I’d eat whatever you gave me if it meant hearing you laugh again.”

She raises an eyebrow, a small smile playing on her lips. “Would you? That’s good to know. I’ve got a few... experiments I’ve been dying to try.”

I laugh, more genuinely this time. “This is good. Really good. You might have a future in this cooking thing. I might even let you make me dinner more often.”

“You’ll have to beg for it.”

I nearly choke on my next bite, catching myself right on time. But damn, if she only knew... I’d beg for anything.

I lean forward, lowering my voice, dragging it out with that mock-serious tone I know gets to her. “You really think you can make me beg, huh?”

She doesn’t flinch, she tilts her head, sizing me up, the sly smile creeping back on her face. “Oh, I know I can.”

She’s beautiful in a way that feels unfair, the kind of beauty that gets people into trouble, that makes them stay when they should run.

She shouldn’t look like this, not with the way the soft light catches against her skin, not with the way her hair falls over her shoulder, not with the way she smells like something sweet and familiar, like comfort, like she doesn’t belong in my world.

And she doesn’t.

She’s insane for letting me sit here, letting me in. She should’ve shut the door in my face, should’ve listened to whatever instinct told her that I don’t belong. But she didn’t.

I hold her gaze, surprised at how much fun I’m having with this. It’s not like me, at least not with anyone else. But here I am, trying to crack her smile, make her laugh. It’s... nice .

She looks away, down at her plate. Her smile fades a little, and there’s something softer in her expression. Then, without warning, she says, “I haven’t had someone to cook for in a while.”

The words hit me hard. I swallow, trying to hide the tightness in my chest. “I haven’t had someone cook for me in forever ,” I say, and it’s true. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.

She meets my eyes for a small moment, like she’s waiting for me to say more. Waiting for me to... understand . And for some reason, I do. “It’s warm. And comforting too.”

“Been a while since you had something like this?” she asks, keeping it soft, but there’s something deeper in her voice.

“ Yeah .”

It’s not the moment to think about the team. I thought I healed from it. I really thought I did. But they were the only ones making dinners feel like home, and it's been so long.

“Well, you’re eating something good and warm tonight. Might have to make this a regular thing.”

A mistake .

A big fucking mistake .

“I’d love that, Voron.”

She freezes, her spoon stops mid-air, and for a second, everything goes quiet, then she laughs, softer this time, but it’s real. Genuine .

“Are you flirting with me?” she asks, eyes narrowed, teasing.

I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “Nothing new to that.”

Her eyes narrow further but she’s still grinning. “Sadly, that’s true.”

I lean in a little, closing the small space between us. “Not sadly. More like thankfully .”

She lifts an eyebrow, intrigued maybe? “Always this obvious?”

I take a slow breath, fighting the way her proximity is messing with my head. “Only when I want something... deeply .”

“And what exactly is it that you want?”

I let my gaze flicker to her lips, then back to her eyes. “Something I can’t have.” You .