A Little Bit Married

Random Displays of Affection

I leaned away and wiped the small drops of tears that were resting right beneath my ears.

"I am sorry, I just..."

"You are such a baby," he said, amusement dancing in his eyes. "But it's our little secret."

I laughed, nodding, emulating the way he put a finger on his lips. He leaned away and ruffled my hair before walking away into the walk-in closet.

I distracted myself with fixing up the bed till he finally emerged again. He was wearing a black turtle neck and a larger white cape like shirt on top of it, his hair messy in a beautiful, out of bed way.

"That shirt does fit you."

He chuckled. "I like to think my entire wardrobe fits me."

I rolled my eyes. "Cocky much?"

"You fuel it, sweetheart."

"I don't think I do," I said defensively, my hands going to my waist. "I am an advocate for humikity anywhere, anytime."

He chuckled, then slowly came to where I was standing. He turned me towards the mirror and moved away. I stood there, watching my reflection in confusion, my brows furrowed as I turned to him.

"What are we doing?"

"Proving a point," he said simply before coming back, his hand gently placed around my shoulders from behind, his head resting on my shoulder as he leaned to my height.

He didn't even have to say anything, but I caught the difference he was trying to show me. When I had been looking at myself alone, I looked normal, almost bored. It was a sharp contrast to the high alertness I had now, my cheeks a rosy red, my eyes constantly drifting to his face, my pupils almost covering my entire eye, like I was watching the single most beautiful piece of art ever made. Dancing to the most beautiful song ever played.

"I get it," I said, admitting defeat. "But I was just..."

"It's hard to control," he said, his voice low as he moved my face gently back to face the mirror. This time, he brought me to focus on his reflection instead of him, and I let my eyes drift to him.

At first, he seemed normal, but then he looked up to me, meeting my eyes, his gaze soft, his hair falling in long strands down to his eyes, casting strandy shadows over his grey eyes.

He looked at me the exact same way that I looked at him. Like I was the most beautiful piece of art ever made. Dancing to the most beautiful song ever played.

I felt my breath hitch, and I turned away, clearing my throat.

"So I understand," he whispered, running his hands down my arm. "Let's get lunch."

I nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Are we going out?"

He shook his head. "I am putting something together for us."

My eyes widened as he moved away from me. "Are you serious? You are going to... cook?"

He met my eyes, his eyes blank. I don't think it is that hard to control for him.

"Why not?"

I laughed, then nodded. "I guess I will come down and watch."

He didn't reply, and I followed him downstairs, my hand in his. The kitchen was spotless and empty, and Gray let go of my hand as he went towards the large pantry.

I watched in awe as he walked around the kitchen like it was... something he had memorised. Hear me out. He seemed like the kind of man who didn't even know that kitchen existed and just believed we downloaded food or something.

But here he was, picking out ingredients and testing freshness with his sense of smell, his brows lightly furrowed in a focused gaze.

I sat up on the island, enjoying watching him dominate the kitchen like it was his second home. It was a sexy thing, I won't lie, but I will have to be drunk as s**t to admit that.

When he was done picking out ingredients, he brought out utensils, then got to cutting and chopping. He had a very keen expertise in using knives, and I smiled to myself, watching work the knife like it was supposed to be easy. Even I can't do that so effortlessly, and I was once a sous chef for a small restaurant.

He prepped all of the ingredients and placed them in small howls before grabbing a pan and putting it on heat.

"Are you good with pasta?"

I nodded. I didn't have a lot of problems with good, and I personally didn't even know anyone who said no to pasta.

"When did you learn how to cook?" I asked, watching boil the pasta in another pot.

He shrugged. "My mum."

"She taught you?"

He moved the lid, then met my eyes. "I always loved eating. I was a bit of a glutton and..."

"Could you rephrase that using the present tense?"

His face fell, and he met my eyes again. "I thought we were never using things against each other."

Oops. "Gray, I..."

"Scaredy cat," he said, chuckling to himself as he turned back to what he was doing.

"That evens us out."

He laughed again. "I doubt you would be able to do a thing to me."

"Cocky much?"

He laughed again, lightly clicking his tongue. "I picked an interest because I loved to eat."

"I mean, fair motivation."

He smiled. "I guess. Could you come a little closer?"

I moved closer, and he took a spoon from the tomato sauce he had made for the pasta. I tasted it, and my eyes widened. It was rich, the spices were very measured, so they were just right, and the consistency was perfect.

"I didn't expect you to be this good."

He laughed. "My mum said the exact same thing when she first tasted my meal."

"Did she?" I asked, getting ready for him to tell me about his mother. He never seemed to want to talk about them or even reminisce, and I just accepted that it was his way of coping with the pain.

It would have been overwhelming, and even though my mother just gave me up to my father and I knew that she was out there, somewhere, it was still overwhelming to try and process the fact that she hadn't wanted me.

"She did," he said, his eyes focused on the pan. "She died three days later."

My smile fell, and he chuckled, then turned away. "I am just saying. That was what she said."

"I am sorry, Gray."

He nodded. "I grew up. It doesn't hurt like it used to, and the scars have mostly healed. They are nothing but a fond memory now."

I smiled, then leaned to him and kissed his cheek. He smiled, and I leaned away, I found myself wondering how we got to a point where random displays of affection like these were normal. Accepted. Appreciated.

We fell into comfortable silence, and for a while, the only noise there was, was from the constant sizzling of the pan.

"Don't you dare die on me, Evangeline."

I looked up, and he had turned the heat down, his hands resting on the edge, his eyes watching mine.

"Grey..."

"I don't want to have to go through it again."

He walked away, grabbing two plates and a tray. None of us said anything more, and I swallowed, realizing just how much he still felt his parents death and how much he could want me to stay.