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“What would you eat?” he asks.

I shrug. “Whatever I could grab in under a few minutes.”

He nods, studying me.

“I’ll go start your bath while you finish eating.”

“No, it’s⁠—”

“Eat, Grace.” His tone is commanding, and it shuts me up fast. It’s the same one he used this morning that stole my breath.

Damn it. Do I like men who boss me around?

Preston heads to the bathroom.

Has that man ever drawn a bath in his life?

Does he even know what he’s doing? How to get it to the right temperature? Or how much of the soap to add so there are bubbles but not full-on bubbles that overflow the tub.

Or does he know where⁠—

“Do you want me to light one or two candles?” he hollers.

Oh, a candlelit bath is my favorite.

Damn him.

“Two,” I answer instead of arguing.

He pops back out to the kitchen. “Give it a few minutes. How long do you want before I come check to make sure you didn’t, in fact, fall asleep?”

I grin. “Are you worried about me?”

“Dying in the bathtub while I’m out here watching TV? Yeah. I can’t allow that.”

I roll my eyes and stand.

“What now?” he asks, and the frustration in his tone is thick.

I could pretend I don’t know what he’s asking, but I’ve never been one to do that. If I want to move on with my night, the truth is the only way to go.

“You’re up to something, and I want to know what it is.”

“I’m not up to anything.” He moves toward the fridge and jerks the door open.

“Liar,” I call him out.

His head snaps in my direction.

“Cooking me dinner and drawing me a bath is something you’d never be caught doing. So, tell me what you’re up to.”

“Why can’t you just say thank you?”

“Because this is not us,” I snap and wave a hand between us. “We don’t do mundane shit like this, Preston. This is not⁠—”

“Fuck, all right. You’re right. No, I’d never do this for you because we’ve never been close enough for the opportunity, but if this is going to work, then I need you to like me, even just a sliver to make it believable.”

“So you’re being nice just to get on my good side.”