Bite Me

“Jeez,” Caroline complained with a comically exaggerated frown. “I really wish you'd learn how to take a compliment, Magnus. You're too modest!”

His lips twitching, he set the bag down on the counter top and turned to face her again. His voice solemn, he informed her, “I am but a humble vessel for my art.”

“Humble?”

After a moment, his grin now full on, he conceded, “Perhaps humble is a small stretch.”

“A bit of a reach,” she agreed, laughing.

He eyed her for a moment and then closed the space between them. “Let me greet you properly now that I don't have my hands full of reference materials, love.”

She stare

d at him speculatively and asked, “Properly? And what exactly does that entail?”

In response, he cupped her cheeks gently and brushed his mouth against hers. Once, then again, before his lips cling to hers in a slow, sumptuous kiss. He let his fingertips trace over the exposed skin between her shoulder blades. Had he ever touched anything so soft?

The loud buzzing of the oven interrupted them. He ignored it for a moment until Caroline backed away from him and asked, “Do you need to get that?”

“Sadly, yes,” he groaned, releasing her. “The venison will dry out.”

“We can't have that,” she teased. “Should I start on the drinks?”

****

Magnus made a few mental notes as they went through the courses. Slight adjustments to seasoning and plating. Overall the flavor combinations were outstanding. He sipped at the gin, lavender and tea concoction again. “Christ, this is good. I don't even care that it's vaguely purple.”

“I think the pairing menu is going to work really well. Everything was so good.” She gestured at the remnants of the meal.

He watched her set her napkin aside, then asked, “Anything you'd change?”

“About my drinks? Nope.”

“About the meal,” he asked, smirking. “Smart ass.”

A teasing grin on her face, she said, “I don't know if I'm ready to have this conversation with you, Magnus. I'm pretty sure you made one of the line cooks cry about some seared mushrooms the other day. I may be a little bit too emotionally fragile.”

“That wasn't even about the mushrooms. Jimmy deliberately ignores my instructions and does whatever he bloody wants. That's why I yelled. He can have creative license with the dishes when he has his own kitchen,” he explained. “I can tell from the way you mix your drinks that you have a clear understanding of what goes well together. So tell me your thoughts.”

Caroline sighed and said, “The raspberry stuff needed some salt. There was too much tarragon on the vegetables.” She chewed on her lip, obviously worried that she'd offended him.

“I went overboard on the tarragon. Hindsight. I don't know about the salt, though,” he said, rising from the table. He grabbed a small saucer, added a medallion of venison loin, the gastrique, then salted it liberally. When he returned to the table, he set it down in between them. “Let's find out, shall we?”

Silently, he cut a small piece from the medallion and dabbed it in the sauce. He held the fork out and watched her lean forward. There was something incredibly intimate about the gesture. It felt oddly right, though.

Perhaps she felt it too, because she reached out once he'd taken a bite of his own. He twined his fingers through hers as he chewed thoughtfully. Once he had swallowed, he said, “Good call. Salt helped.” After a long pause, his voice heavy with disbelief, he asked, “Did he really bloody cry?”

She gave a nod in the affirmative. “Like a baby. But don't feel too bad about it. He was calling you an asshole in the same breath. I think he might have missed the point of your lesson entirely.”

“That little prat. Perhaps I'll have another talk with him about it,” he said shrugging it off. He wasn't in the business of making friends. Still, he didn't like to come across as a bully.

Disentangling her hand from his, she leaned back in her chair and sighed. “This was all fantastic, Magnus. I'm glad we split this into multiple sittings. Otherwise, I think I'd be in a food coma right now.”

Before he could stop himself, he murmured, “I forget what that feels like.”

“Really?” she asked him, curiosity written across her expressive face.

“It's been years since the change happened, so yeah. I don't get colds or the flu. No food comas. No sunburn. No hay fever.”