Page 7 of Recipe for a Curse

I licked my lips, swallowing hard and Rio’s gaze came up, eyes softening as he seemed to look at my mouth and then meet my eyes. He gave me a soft smile and looked away shyly. Like he’d been thinking of tasting me in other ways. I let out a long breath, trying to rein in the attraction. The guy was obviously hungry. No need to get all hot and bothered while his tummy was growling.

“There is pumpkin bread in the foil wrap,” I pointed toward the last unpacked bag on the counter. “If you’re hungry and want to nibble. There’s also a jar of honey somewhere.”

Rio glanced toward the kitchen, swallowing visibly as he stared at the bag, like he wanted to leap toward it and eat everything. But he didn’t move.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Get the bread. I’d love a slice too, if you don’t mind.”

Only then did he move, almost deliberately slow, getting off the hearth of the fireplace and heading to the kitchen. He unpacked the last bag, full of canned chicken, tuna, and even beef, then finding the container full of mincemeat mini pies and finally the bread and honey.

I pretended to poke at the stew while he tried to stealthily eat a couple of mini pies. How long had he been without food? I was determined now to fill his pantry this winter, even if it meant daily trips into the woods. When he finally returned with the bread and honey, I retrieved the cutting board to slice thick chunks and slather them with honey.

“Eat,” I commanded him, handing over four giant slabs of bread and honey. “My pumpkin bread is divine.”

He devoured them, licking the honey off his fingers as he went. I pretended not to watch, but couldn’t help being thrilled he liked it. Either that or he was so hungry he’d eat anything. Odd how he did look a bit thinner than he had over the holidays. It had only been a few weeks.

Once the stew was up to a boil and smelling heavenly, I poked at the potatoes to make sure they were tender. “Looks like the stew is ready. Do you have some bowls?”

Rio headed to the kitchen again, returning with some thick stoneware bowls and a couple of big spoons. I filled his bowl to the top and handed it over, before adding a much smaller amount to mine. The stew tasted a bit like a bacon burger. Too bad I hadn’t thought to bring cheese.

I licked the spoon. “Yum. Haven’t had this in ages.”

Rio paused to stare at me, eyes a bit big.

“You okay?” I asked.

He nodded and ducked his head to shovel more food in his mouth. But he paused again as though watching me eat made him feel weird.

“Eat,” I told him. “As much as you want. I love seeing people enjoy the food I make. It’s why I’m a chef. I remember the first time I made a batch of cookies and gave them to some school friends. It wasn’t anything special, but they loved them, and I remember feeling like I could fly.”

“You’re a good cook. The soup is good, and the bread too.” Rio looked at the bread, which he’d eaten most of, and then the stewpot.

I waved at the pot. “Eat. I’m good, I promise.”

He refilled his bowl twice more while I slowly made my way through mine. Warmth finally broke through and began to make me sleepy. I set my bowl down and snuggled deeper into the pile of blankets. Was Rio cold? He was barefoot again, his hair slightly damp from the trips outside. I watched him pick up our bowls and move them to the kitchen. He organized the supplies and ate another three pies before putting the leftovers away.

I must have nodded off because movement of the stewpot startled me awake. I blinked at him as he used the gloves to carry the pot to the kitchen. The grate was back in place in front of the fire, and I was blessedly warm.

“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

“Battling the cold will do that,” Rio said. “The snow is still coming down hard.” He sounded worried. “I hope your boss comes soon.”

“Am I taking up all your blankets?” I struggled to free myself from the nest. “I’m okay by the fire.”

“It’s fine,” Rio said. “I told you I run warm. I’m okay.”

“At least come sit by the fire. I won’t bite, I promise.”

He flinched. Had I said something wrong? Maybe I’d read him wrong and he was afraid of being close to another man?

“Rio?”

He let out a long puff of air and made his way over, carefully lowering himself down onto the blankets. “How’s your ankle?”

“Throbbing,” I admitted. “Still think it’s a ligament?”

His head bobbed. “Yeah, bones are more of an ache than a throb when broken. You’ll probably have to get it immobilized. They don’t usually do casts for that, but a walking brace maybe, and instructions to keep off of it.”

That was going to suck. How would I move around the kitchen and still keep it immobile?