Eve

I don't wait for a response, instead, I spin on my heels and make way for the kitchen.

I'm thankful for the creak of the sofa, and the slow pace of his footsteps following, because I would've felt stupid for the confident bravado to end up in the kitchen alone. Releasing the tension from my body with a shaky breath, I focus on the task at hand rather than the six foot something looming in the doorway. Scurrying around, I snatch up sandwich fillers, packets of crisps, a fresh pack of sausage rolls, yogurts, and the last Whisper chocolate bar. Dumping the contents on the counter, I reach up, retrieve two plates, and set them side by side in a free spot.

Curling a lock of hair behind my ear, I peer up at him over my shoulder. "OK, what do you like? I'm making sandwiches."

His eyes narrow on the way over, lingering on the choices I've laid across the countertop, cocking his head. When nothing but silence greets me, I watch him flick back and forth, and it unsettles my stomach. Instead of answering my question, he asks, "What's a sandwich?"

The pure inquisition in his voice hits me, and I'm shocked to the core. I've never heard this question before, and it stuns me to the point where I'm struggling to form words.

"I-it's two pieces of bread with a filling of your choice. . . I'll make you one if you would like?" I whisper, but he heard.

His eyes brighten into shimmering rings of light emerald and emits a soft rumble. "Only if you're having some."

Unable to help the slight shift to my lips, I nod, motioning to the rest of the food. "Does anything pick your fancy?"

The curiosity floating in his eyes during another round of inspection tells me what I need to know without needing him to answer, and it flourishes a mix of emotions I wasn't expecting. Sadness, anger, and sympathy.

"Have you. . . have you ever eaten human food before?" I ask, hesitant, and the look I receive isn't hard or full of hate because I'm being nosey or pushing an answer to something personal. No. It's guilt, and a glint of embarrassment.

"No. Just hunting. Meat," he returns, gruff.

With trembling fingers, I'm inches from touching his arm while he stares at the jars and packets but decide against it. I don't want to test if he's the type of guy who doesn't like sympathy or not, so I manoeuvre around him, lightly touching his hip on the way to the drawer to retrieve a knife, and a few spoons. When I catch his eye on the way back to my original spot, they shine with gratitude.

Clearing my throat, I crack open the lids to the jam and chocolate spread, peel open the packet for the sausage rolls and reveal the creamy contents of the peach yogurt. "What would you like to try first?"

Sniffing, he settles on the jam.

Dipping the spoon in, I scoop a small amount and extend it for him to take. I'm thankful our fingers don't touch, because this is intense as it is.

"This is strawberry jam; it's a little sweet," I inform, watching with more curiosity than necessary as he pulls it closer to his nose, then lowers it to his mouth.

The second it passes his lips, his eyes soften again, and there's a little noise in the back of his throat. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and I don't miss how he licks the spoon while I collect some of the chocolate spread.

"This one's a bit thicker," I say, dragging the back of the spoon against the rim to rid any excess. "If you like this, I'm sure you'll love chocolate. It's called chocolate spread."

During his inspection of the brown paste, I prepare four sandwiches, filling mine with jam and butter, and his with butter. The low groan startles me, then it's followed by a rumble, and when I swivel to face him, there's a light hue to his cheeks, and his eyes have brightened.

I'll take it he loves chocolate.

Chuckling, I nod. "I know right?"

He nods, glancing toward the opened pot. Snatching some kitchen roll, I clean the knife and lather some of the spread across his slices of bread.

"One more dip; help yourself to the rest," I assure, cutting the sandwiches in half. "What you like, I'll put on the plate."

He bites the end off of a sausage roll, two end up on his plate, and I stick with one. He doesn't wait for the yogurt to be settled by the sandwiches before downing it in one, ending it with a swift lick of the lips. In my attempt to open the Whisper bar, there's loud rustling, a piercing pop, and various crackles. I can't help but laugh at the sight of his puppy expression, hands covered in crisps and the counter plastered. His eyes illuminate, and the second he eats the smoky flavoured morsel, he nabs another one.

Bending down to sweep the larger fragments into a pile to scoop into my hands, his towering stature bends to follow suit. I can't believe how he still manages to hover over me, even like this, but I appreciate the help he's offering. Keeping myself distracted with cleaning only lasts two minutes before our fingers brush, and those tingles make an appearance. He growls, but it's gentle, and my heart skips a beat. Our eyes lock, and I'm a breathless mess. I don't miss the way his eyes darted from my lips to my eyes and back again, and I'm surprisingly quick to break the staring competition by shooting to my feet.

Chucking the crisps in the bin with his help, we tidy the sides, and finish topping our plates up. Splitting the bar in half for the cherry on the top, I place a section on each of our plates, then beam down at them.

"There you go, all done," I start, sliding his toward him. "If you get hungry, please, help yourself. I don't like people not taking care of themselves."

"If that's what you wish."

Jerking my head up, the sincerity highlighting his features is unmissable. Fiddling with my shirt, I nod, dropping my line of sight to my toes. "It is."

The silence that fills the air isn't tense like it used to be, and the notion does something weird to my stomach. It's calming, there's no animosity from either of us. . . it's relaxing.

"Little wolf, you fed me; now I do the same," he rasps.

This time when our eyes lock, the bright hue in his doesn't die down, it only intensifies. My cheeks are a tingling mess, my brain buffers as I shake my head, and raise my palms. "N-no, honestly, you've done enough for me," I stammer. "It's the l-least I can do."

He takes a slow, calculative step toward me, and I mirror it back until his arm hooks around me to grip the side of the counter. My breath catches, and the corner of his lip hitches for a second. His stare is intense, boring into me, searching for something I'm not even sure could be lurking in my depths. The fresh pine scent that follows him wherever he goes is overwhelming, tantalising. Breathing it in, I feel my muscles slacken. His other hand reaches across the side, then the note of chocolate wafts up my nose.

Eyeing the small piece, I dare a look at his face, swallowing back a squeak at the proximity between us.

He's even more handsome up close—no, bad brain!

"Bite," he instructs, tone a deep murmur.

Testing the boundaries, I try to shift away from him, but he grows closer. The heat emitting from him is insane, and I'm scared of the effect it has on me. Going with my second option, I reach for the treat, only for his fingers to pull it back with a small growl.

"Bite," he repeats, in the same alluring tone, never breaking eye contact.

Sensing my newfound compliance, the piece of chocolate inches closer, and I lift up, and sink my teeth into it. Pulling the corner into my mouth, I chew, cheeks beyond boiling point, but the combinations of his fragrance and the taste of chocolate is shamefully amazing.

His lip curls. "Good girl."

Embarrassed, I break away from his embrace, and he thankfully allows me. I'm not sure what that was, or what his intent was, but it leaves a strange sensation in my body. I'm hot inside and out, his voice plagues my mind, and I'm dying to touch him.

With shaky fingers, I collect my plate, making sure to avoid him altogether. "W-well, I'm glad you enjoyed the food, thank you for. . . that?" I ramble, doing my best to fight the heat in my face. "I'll see you in the morning."

He bows his head, not a nod, and not an inclination. "See you in the morning."

Ignoring the shiver running down my spine, I turn on my heels, and return to my room with long, fast strides, and shut the door with embarrassing force. Hearing his chuckle, I bury my face in one hand while using the other to carry my food to the bed. Plonking down, I pick at the contents whilst my mind wanders, only to devour them once I realise what I'm doing.

Sleep takes forever to come, thanks to the thoughts of him, the joyous expression when he tried the food, and the confusion when he first laid eyes on them. Sighing, I roll over, feeling the drowsiness starting to settle in.

When I'm about to drift, I hear him. "I'm Calex."

I'm not sure why, but a small smile stretches across my face, and it's only when I fall asleep that one questions stirs my sleep with images of him.

What have you been through, Calex?