Page 16 of Seale the Deal

She gives me a skeptical look. Like, a real moose? She holds her hands to her head in a makeshift antler pose.

Yes. One I hunted last season.

Her eyes go wide. You killed it?

Yes, I say slowly. Didn’t Remi tell you we’re a hunting family?

She’s a vegetarian.

I smirk. Doesn’t change her upbringing.

She mulls that over. Then, with a little shrug: When in Alaska.

Wrenley looks at the slab of meat on her plate.

She picks up her fork slowly, like she’s trying to decide if she is going to attempt to put any of it in her mouth.

You okay? I ask, watching her.

Wrenley gives me a too-bright smile. Yeah. Sorry. I just… She twirls her fork between her fingers. I’ve never had wild game before.

I can sense the uncertainty in her voice.

It’s leaner, I say. You’ll notice a difference, but not too much.

She still looks wary.

I nudge her plate closer to her. Remi told me what you ate today. There’s no way you’re not hungry. Eat.

Her throat bobs. She takes a bite, slow at first… then another, faster.

I look away and pretend not to notice the way her whole body relaxes after the third forkful.

The small moans Wrenley makes while she chews hit me low, sharp, hot, and entirely unwelcome. It’s just dinner. Just steak. But the way her lips part, the way her lashes flutter as she hums with pleasure… Jesus. I wish she’d eat faster. Ask me where she’s sleeping. Then I can point, carry her suitcases up the stairs, because I’m a gentleman, and get the hell out of there before I start fantasizing about how she’d sound if she… weren’t eating moose.

I expected I’d like her, at least enough to live together. I figured we’d easily be able to settle into a comfortable, friendly routine. Remi said she was a quiet homebody, a creative like her, but also not like her. I didn’t look into it much further. Remi was focused on getting her here, and I just figured I was along for the ride.

Liking her? That tracks.

What doesn’t track is the way my pulse stumbles every time she makes a sound, like I’ve never heard someone enjoy food before.

I shouldn’t be noticing that. But I am.

Wrenley licks her lips—slowly, like it’s intentional. Jesus. Then she drops her utensils and lets out one last satisfied sigh.

That was so good, she says.

Glad you liked it. I try not to grit my teeth when I say it.

She leans back, hands over her stomach, still humming softly like she’s entirely content to be right here, in my kitchen, eating moose steak like it’s fine dining.

There’s something weirdly… endearing about that. The way she lets herself enjoy it fully, like she’s not worried about me judging how much she eats. She just is.

Can I get you anything else?

She shakes her head. No, thank you.

I nod and gather our plates. I try to focus on the sink instead of the sound of that last sigh.