Page 38 of His Dark Vices

But then I see how wrong I was to assume.

Standing shirtless in the middle of the kitchen like a domestic god is Sam, nudging some scrambled cheesy eggs onto a plate of bacon and sausage. Two separate plates are filled with cut up fruit, and a couple glasses of orange juice are waiting, too.

He looks up to catch me staring, my mouth wide open, and he chuckles.

"Just in time, sleepy face. I thought I'd have to bring all this up to you in bed. Didn't know how I was going to manage that." He grins widely, now arranging the plates on the kitchen island.

My stomach speaks for me with a loud growl. I shake my head in disbelief and get my legs moving with some effort.

"Wow," is all I can breathe out. "The eggs look so… fluffy. How did you do this? I can't even do that!"

Sam scoffs, taking a last look around the kitchen before plopping down onto a stool at the kitchen island. "Years of practice. I used to be shit at it." He gestures for me to sit as he takes a bite of bacon. "But you just need to keep doing it over and over before you get the hang of it." He finishes with a shrug, digging into his plate.

I slide onto the stool beside him and eagerly dig in as well, thinking over his words. Now that he mentions it, this isn't thefirst time he's told me he can cook. His parents didn't cook—that's what he said, right?

"Years of practice," I repeat under my breath, wondering aloud. "How many years?"

Sam hands me a fork and shrugs again. "I don't know, long time. Not like I'm counting." He laughs and shovels eggs into his mouth, then nods with satisfaction. "Taste it, tell me what you think. I think I already know the answer, though." He nudges me playfully, and I get the feeling he's trying to change the subject.

Or maybe I'm reading too much into it.

I take a single bite, and suddenly, I can't stop eating.

"Mmm, oh my gosh," I manage after a couple more bites. "This is so good. What did you put in it?"

"Ingredients," Sam replies simply. "Spices."

"Keeping your secrets, huh?"

"Even if I told you, you can't make eggs this good."

When I look over to shoot off a smart response, his plate is empty, and he's already reaching for the fruit.

"Catch up, little bunny. We got all kinds of stuff to get into today," Sam says when he catches me looking at him incredulously.

"We do?" I ask excitedly, chomping on some sausage.

"We do. I was thinking we could explore the town. You want to?"

I nod, grinning and feeling warm all over. There's nothing I'd like to do more.

"Hurry up and finish, then." Sam leans in close and presses a kiss to my forehead, his hand briefly touching my lower back. "I'll go wash up and get dressed. Meet you back down here?"

I nod, beaming up at him, and watch him leave the kitchen, feeling a fluttering in my chest.

Not long after, I clean my plate, have my fill of fruits, then start gathering up the dishes. Sam is a surprisingly tidy cook, socleaning the kitchen back up is quick work. I hum to myself as I work, feeling good about giving a little back to the man who has given me so much.

When a sudden clattering breaks up the silence, I let out a little scream and turn around toward the sound.

Standing in the kitchen doorway is Sam, his face a mask, hard and blank. And he looks pale, like something is wrong. His phone is on the floor—he must have dropped it—and when he makes no move to pick it up, I retrieve it for him. Without looking at the screen, I hand it back over to him, watching his expression for any sign of recognition.

"Sam, what's wrong?" I ask softly, tilting my head to get a better look at him.

At the sound of my voice—but not my scream?—he suddenly jerks back to life. He snatches the phone out of my hand and turns around, heading away from the kitchen without a word. A sick feeling settles in my stomach. Clearly something is up, but he ignored my question. Or maybe he didn't hear me? But he's still moving away from me, whatever the case.

Anxiety starts to make my head spin, so I go after him, taking hesitant steps. If something bad has happened, I want to be there for him, even if it suddenly feels terrifying to approach him.

I've never seen him this cold. Well, it was kind of like this at the loft that one time. But I didn't do anything wrong this time.

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