She was just so bloody adorable when she got all commanding like that.
“Cream and dill are common pairings with cucumber.”
“Aye, and I’m using them, so come up with something else.”
The grin she gave him more than made up for any sting he might’ve felt at her command. Brodie dropped his chin to his chest as he considered.
After a few long moments of him dismissing recipes, he hummed. “Do ye ken if we have any shrimp or crab?”
Immediately, Fenella shook her head. “Nay.” She winced. “Will that be a problem? Ye can use cream and dill if ye cannae come up with aught else. I dinnae mean to make it sound—”
He cut her off before she backtracked too much. “Nay, I’ll be fine.” He stood and allowed some of his affection for her to slip into his gaze. “I’ll no’ take away yer ingredient ideas.”
Perhaps she saw the feeling in his eyes. She was better than most at interpreting his moods, which was impressive. He knew he was unusually stoic, and it had never bothered him, but he admitted he liked the fact Fenella Oliphant could see through that to the man underneath.
The man who absolutely did have feelings, most of them directed at her at that very moment.
Whatever the reason, she flushed slightly, then grinned as she watched him reach for his crutch. “Where are ye going?”
“To the garden to see what kind of melons are ripe.”
Her brows rose; her knife stayed suspended in midair above her third cucumber. “Melons?”
It was the way she said it which caused his gaze to drop just briefly to her breasts, remembering their heft against his palm, remembering their taste. His cock jumped, and he stifled a growl.
“Aye, melons.”
She had to have noticed the heat in his gaze, or perhaps the direction of it, because she swallowed, her words emerging as a squeak. “What are ye going to do with melons?”
What would I no’ do with yer melons, lass!
But they were in a crowded kitchen, with any number of ears about. So instead of speaking, he lowered one eyelid in a slow wink and was rewarded when she sucked in a breath.
“’Twas— “Twas that a wink, Brodie?”
Had it not been obvious?
“Aye, of course. Ye were talking about melons.”
Her cheeks were still pink, and her vague gesture took in the cucumbers, the basket, his crutch, and her own tits. “I didnae mean…ye ken.”
Taking pity on her, he winked again.
“There!” she cried. “Ye did it again! A wink! Ye’re making a joke?” She peered closer at him. “Are ye certain ye’re no’ having some sort of fit? Do ye have a weak muscle in yer eye, mayhap?” She lowered her voice and leaned forward. “Do ye have a twitch?”
“Do I have a—?” he sputtered, and for the first time in a long while, realized ‘twas a sputter. God’s teeth, she’d made him sputter? He lowered his voice to a warning growl. “I dinnae have a twitch, lass, and if ye keep teasing me, I’ll no’ wink at ye again.”
“Och, nay.” She straightened and put on an angelic expression. “Wink away, Sir Brodie.”
“I’ll no’,” he muttered gruffly, then hobbled around the stool. “I’m going to the gardens.”
“For melons.”
She sounded so innocent, he had to turn and glare at her and was rewarded with a flash of amusement in her green eyes.
Green. Because with him, she felt at ease?
“Melons,” he repeated in a whisper, distracted by how fooking beautiful she was with her hair pulled back like that and her feet bare against the stones.
“Melons ye’ll pair with cucumbers somehow?”
Nodding curtly, he forced himself back to the task at hand. “Aye. With mint. And a dash of honey. But no’ too much, because—”
“Less is more, aye. I remember ye’re preposterous theory.” She waved him toward the garden. “Go, gather yer salad ingredients. I confess I’m intrigued by that combination and look forward to trying it.”
Brodie knew he was stoic and knew he was known for keeping his thoughts from his expression. So why, as he stumped his way toward the kitchen garden, could he not seem to keep his lips from curling upward into a smile?
And why did it not matter one whit to him?