“I did say there was food in the kitchen,” she pointed out again. “And I’m not a good photographic subject.”
“You are to me, okay?” he stated and kissed on her on the lips, before bounding into the kitchen to rummage in the food. “Do you want something hot?”
“I want pasta.” She followed him in, perching at the table and enjoying the sight of him attempting to be domestic. Did he know how to cook? Probably — he’d lived in bachelor households for half his life.