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“I… I didn't know which to get, so I brought options.”
My stomach fluttered. Did he stutter?
I stared at the food. Options… or did he know I was pregnant? No, he couldn't.
“Eat,” he breathed.
Even if I wanted to do otherwise, the aroma was inviting.
Instinctively, I tugged the rice bowl closer, grabbing a spoon as I did so.
The tension in my bones eased when I shoved the first bite down my throat. It was delicious. I shoved another.
His hot gaze burned my skin, but I didn't look. Somehow, it reminded me of how hungry I suddenly was.
“Slow down.”
My cheeks heated up when I raised my head to find him staring at me.
“Favorite food?” he asked. I shook my head.
“What is?”
“Bread and jam.”
He arched his brow. I dropped the spoon. Should I even be indulging him?
“You think...” I trailed. “...it isn't… worthy to be a favorite food?”
“I didn't say that.” He twirled his fork in his food.
“Favorite place?” I briefly wondered why he was asking questions.
“Barcelona.”
He dropped his fork, tilting his head before furrowing his brows. “
Not Greece or Paris?”
I shook my head. “Not Greece or Paris.”
He mused, tilting his head slightly.
“What's yours?” I leaned a bit against the chair. This could make me temporarily forget my worries?
“Favorite food or place?”
“Both,” I breathed.
“My favorite food is pasta, and I don't have a favorite place.”
“Pasta?”
“I didn't judge you for your favorite meal,” he chuckled.
I couldn't help my own chuckle. “Okay, but no favorite place?”
His brows furrowed. “I've visited most countries. Quite honestly, there's nothing thrilling.”
