“Hmm,” she mumbled, licking her lips. “That is good.”
“Some fresh spinach would go wonderfully,” he said, switching off the burner and tossing the vegetables. “But we make do, don’t we?”
He glanced up at her, and their eyes met. For a brief moment, he was reminded of when he almost slapped her and found he couldn’t. Her scent was strong, wafting around him, more noticeable than the food.
Maybe, she really is my mate.
He didn’t want to think about that. He was too involved already. He shouldn’t get close to her at all, and these close moments weren’t doing either of them any good.
Emma helped carry the plates to the table, and he found a few bottles of red wine in the back of the cupboard. They were fairly cheap but had sat in her cupboard a while, so he reasoned that they were decently aged.
They sat together, and there were only a few appreciative murmurs for the first few minutes as they tucked into the food. Even Ace was surprised by how good it all tasted once it was put together. He was distracted by the food and his empty stomach so much that he didn’t think to guard himself when Emma asked about being a shifter.
“Hmm?” he muttered distractedly.
“What’s it like being a shifter? I mean, I’ve heard of them but never really understood what it’s all about.”
Ace didn’t look up. “I don’t know how to explain it, really. I’m the cheetah, and the cheetah is me. I can always feel it. The change itself can be painful when you’re first learning, but it becomes something pleasurable with practice. Sometimes … it’s even transcendent.”
“Wow,” she muttered. He tilted his head up, realizing her gaze was fixed on him with her chin in her hand. Her big green eyes were doe-eyed, and he sensed her excitement shimmering in the air as it rose from her skin in waves of heat.
Ace recognized he was sharing too much. She was just a job. He wasn’t supposed to get involved. At any moment, his Don could tell him to off her. Any of the families might ... even her own. He was foolish to get involved.
He cleared his throat, trying to withdraw his emotion. He needed to turn the situation around.
“So, Emma, what would you rather be doing? Instead of running a stash house, I mean.”
“Oh,” she said, letting herself be diverted. “I love gardening. I don’t know if I’d like to work in a garden full time or sell produce, but I just love growing things. The problem is everything I try to grow always dies.”
She giggled and rolled her eyes, and Ace thought it was the cutest thing he had ever seen.
“Really?” he asked. “I have a little herb garden, and it’s thriving. What happens to your plants, and how long does it take them to die?”
“Oh, different time frames,” she said, her tongue lapping up a stray piece of pasta from her bottom lip. “But they wilt and go dry at the edges of their leaves.”
“Are you watering them enough?”
“Yes! Damn it, I give them gallons of water.”
“Hmm,” he muttered, taking a sip of wine. “It doesn’t sound like they are waterlogged. When do you water them?”
“Oh, the end of the day, sometimes even at night. I forget, sometimes.”
“Well, there’s your issue,” he said, satisfied. “They need a little in the morning and a little in the afternoon. You can’t just drown them in water in the middle of the night. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Wow, thanks,” she said with real enthusiasm. “I never thought of that. This is very surprising, you know.”
“What is?” he asked, looking at his plate.
“Well, you being nurturing and all. It never occurred to me that you’d know how to make plants grow.”
Ace looked up from his plate, fixing his eyes on hers. He wasn’t angry yet, but he could be soon.
“What do you mean?”
Emma kept chattering on innocently as if she wasn’t steadily digging a hole deep enough to bury herself in.
“Well, you know. You’re a tough guy. I just didn’t think you’d be puttering about with a watering can tending to plants. Like, I’m really surprised.”