* * *
When I got back home at midnight from my shift, Frederick was at the stove, his back to me as he stirred something that smelled suspiciously and deliciously like chicken soup.
This was the first time I’d seen him so much as stand in the kitchen since my first night there, when I’d gone on that futile search for cookware. I’d certainly never seen him cook anything. I didn’t know why he was doing it now; his food preparation routine was, as far as I knew, limited to cutting into bags from the blood bank.
He didn’t seem to notice my presence, so I decided to just stand there in silence and watch him for a while. He really did have an incredible build for men’s T-shirts. And an amazing ass for jeans.
Taking him to the mall and getting him new clothes hadn’t only been a favor to him. It had been a favor to humankind.
“Frederick?”
He whirled around at the sound of my voice, a wooden spoon with something dripping from it clutched in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other. He wore a black apron over his clothes with the words This Guy Rubs His Own Meat in large white Comic Sans lettering.
I huffed an involuntary laugh, momentarily forgetting what I’d been about to ask him. “What are you wearing?”
He looked down at himself, then back at me. “It’s an apron.”
“Yes, I can see it’s an apron, but . . .” I managed to convert the giggles threatening to escape me into a cough, but barely. “Where did you get it?”
“Amazon.” He set his wooden spoon down on the stove and smiled at me, clearly proud of himself. I made a mental note not to let Frederick navigate Amazon on my laptop without supervision anymore. “I saw this apron and immediately thought, This message conveys competence in the kitchen. Which is exactly what I’d hoped to convey as I prepared your meal.”
My eyes went wide. “You’re cooking something for me?”
“I am.”
I didn’t know what to say. “But why?”
He shrugged. “To thank you for helping me. I see what you feed yourself, Cassie. All those snacks and ready-to-grab things you keep in the fridge.” He looked back over his shoulder at me. “It’s important to get adequate nutrition, you know.”
I stood there, heart in my throat, struck dumb at the idea that a centuries-old vampire was lecturing me on the importance of three squares a day.
No one had cooked a real meal for me since I’d left my parents’ house. Not even Sam.
“And so you’re making me—”
“Chicken soup.” He gave me a shy smile. “I might have had an ulterior motive when I asked you for your favorite meals. I also cut up some fresh fruit for you. Pineapple and kiwi. There’s a bowl of it on the counter.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, my chest tight. I was an adult and had been taking care of myself for years. But the idea that he wanted to care for me . . .
It did something to me.
Trying to distract myself, I turned and sat at the kitchen table. My laptop was there, and I decided I might as well check my email while waiting for Frederick to finish the soup.
I grabbed a slice of kiwi from the bowl of fresh fruit, popping it into my mouth and enjoying the bright burst of flavor on my tongue. Humming appreciatively, I clicked the mouse button on my laptop.
The screen lit up, and—
HOW TO KISS: TEN FOOLPROOF TIPS TO HAVE YOUR PARTNER CLAMORING FOR MORE!
I stood up from the table so quickly I knocked over my chair. I rubbed my eyes with my fists, thinking maybe I’d just hallucinated the Buzzfeed headline in thirty-six-point font I’d just seen on my laptop.
I checked again, and . . .
Nope.
There was definitely a kissing-tips article pulled up on my laptop.
I was one hundred percent certain I had not Googled anything that would yield a result like this the last time I’d used my computer.
I had, however, given Frederick permission to use my laptop whenever he wanted to.
“Um. Frederick?”
“Hm?”
I bit my lip. Should I admit to what I’d just seen?
If he wanted to read internet how-to articles about kissing, he had every right to do exactly that. My flushed cheeks and racing heart needed to stay out of this situation entirely, as it had nothing to do with me.
My lack of response must have clued Frederick in to what made me jump out of my chair, because two seconds later he inserted himself like a six-foot-tall vampiric shield between me and the kitchen table. His hands shot out, gripping my upper arms like twin iron vises, cool fingertips digging into my warm flesh.