“Nope.” He took a drink of his beer, his eyes merry as though he enjoyed these sparring moments with her, playing with her. “I told you I wasn’t leaving until you ate.”
“You left,” she pointed out.
“Came back with food,” he countered. Then he looked in the pan. “I use the term loosely.” He lifted the spoon to display the bright orange pasta. “Macaroni and cheese.” Looking back at her again, he winked. “With mayo.”
Cassidy’s brows went up. Well, that was intriguing. “What do you mean, with mayo?” She took a few more steps into the room.
“Gotta come and find out,” he invited.
“You are so annoying,” she said even as she started forward. “And intrusive. How I conduct my life is none of your business.”
He eyed her as she approached. “As long as I’m picking you up off the side of the road, you’re my business.”
She bristled. “Once. It happened once. And I remember having to tote your drunk ass home, so don’t start pointing fingers on who’s living their best life.”
His grin was brief before he turned and scooped a large portion of the bright pasta into a bowl. He set it on the counter in front of her with a look that dared her to demand a smaller portion while edged with… Was that pride? Was he proud of himself for getting her to eat? Sighing, she slid onto a barstool and held her hand out for a utensil. He handed her a fork, a brightness in his eyes she wasn’t accustomed to seeing.
“If you want to exercise, don’t jog. You don’t need to do anything that burns calories you don’t consume.”
She glared as she moved the pasta around in her bowl.
“Yoga, for instance. It’ll give you the effect Jason was going for without flattening you out on the road.” He watched her play with the food. “Fucking eat it.”
Cassidy frowned. “You aren’t eating it. A chef who won’t eat his own food?”
“Fuck’s sake,” he mumbled, dishing out another portion for himself. He leaned back against the counter and stabbed at it, a hesitant look on his face. Glancing at her expectantly, he said, “I’m not a fan of mayo, that was for you, so eat up.”
Cassidy smiled in spite of herself. His remembering her preference for mayo was… Sweet? Not from Mac. He was using it as manipulation. But she obediently scooped up the fare. They watched each other as they took their first bites and chewed.
Mac’s expression fell into a grimace. Cassidy’s lit up in delight. Rocking dramatically backward in her seat with a satisfied moan, she slapped a hand to her chest as she exclaimed, “Oh my god, this is awesome.” She went back for a bigger forkful.
Mac watched her in incredulity. “You really like this?”
“Yes! This is amazing! How did you make it?”
He was looking at her like she admitted to having escaped Area 51. He indicated the cardboard box. “It’sjustmacaroni and cheese, nothing fancy; divided the mayo and the milk measurement.”
“Genius.” Her full concentration was on the bowl in front of her now; it was the best macaroni and cheese she’d ever had. “Why hadn’t I ever thought of it?”
Mac set aside the bowl, shaking his head. “Your palate is unique.”
Cassidy didn’t care there was a hint of judgment in the comment as she shoveled more of the questionable cheese and pasta with mayo concoction into her mouth. “Mmm.”
“It got you eating,” he said with satisfaction.
“I’ll eat the whole pan,” she predicted.
He gave her a look indicating he might vomit at the thought which warred with an underlying smugness. He went back to his beer.
Cassidy ignored him—tried to—as much as she could while being completely aware he stood watching her. The foodwasgood, and she was impressed he’d come up with it to entice her to eat it. It worked.
Slowing her consumption, she glanced up. The intensity of his concentration had her looking away, then back. Swallowing, she broached the subject, assuming since he’d done this for her, they’d reached an understanding. “The other day… That morning?”
He stared. He raised the bottle to his lips.
Cassidy was beginning to recognize the gesture as one of his tells, bracing himself for what might come next or to avoid answering a question. It was a sign a wall was going up, or more of a wall. Mac was a freaking inhospitable fortress.
“When you turned around…” she faltered when his brows came together, his attention on her no less intense, but the energy had shifted, tension seeping in. Looking down, she pushed at the pasta. “And then, that night, I heard you.”