Page 10 of Hot Hearts
“My office will call you with the results, and we can move on from there. For today, take it easy, but try to get something in your stomach if you can. You’re not the only one who needs the nutrients.” Doc looks up at me. “I’ve been meaning to ask, Chef Brooks, about a possible booking for the fourth. My anniversary?—”
“You can eat in the kitchen. Just tell my staff what days you want and they’re yours.”
He smiles. “Great.”
“And send the bill for this to me.” I see him out and then hustle back to the bedroom to find Slater getting out of bed.
I push her back onto the pillows. “Doc said to take it easy.”
“That doesn’t mean I should be lying down. Pregnant women exercise up until the day of their delivery.”
I scrunch my brows together. “That sounds fake to me.”
“It’s not.” She pushes at my arm, and I let it fall away. “Besides, I’m thirsty and maybe even a little hungry.”
“I’ll make you soup.” I scoop her up in my arms and carry her into the living room. A press of a button and the painting on the wall lowers to reveal a television.
“Really?” Slater says.
“It’s cool.” I shrug. The high tech things please me like the disappearing kitchen stools and the hidden television. “The one in the bedroom comes down from the ceiling.” I hand her the remote and cover her legs with a blanket.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a guy that likes fancy technological things.”
“How so?”
“You’re a chef. You cook with your hands. That seems analog to me.”
“I make foam out of broccoli juice.”
She allows a small smile to escape. “Okay, you’re right. I guess we have a lot to learn about each other.”
“We can fill out questionnaires.”
This time a laugh bursts forth. I blink in confusion. Her laughter dies out. “Oh, you were serious,” she says.
Irritated she isn’t on board with what I thought was a great idea, I ask her stiffly, “Do you have food allergies?”
“No. I like everything.”
“Great,” I say in a tone that implies anything but. In the kitchen, I pull out a chicken. After washing it and putting it in a pot to boil, I start preparing the dough for noodles. Maybe it’s the written kind of questionnaire she doesn’t like. She answered the doctor’s questions easily enough. I should have looked up a getting-to-know-you scenario along with how to get married. I can do that later after I’m done making the soup, I decide.
“I’m glad you’ve given up on the marriage thing,” Slater says when I bring a tray over to her. I wait until she swallows her first bite.
“In my culture, when you eat something made by the hand of another, it’s an agreement of marriage.”
“Bullshit,” she says, dropping the spoon.
I allow a smile to spread across my face. “We’re basically hitched, Mrs. Neal.”
Chapter Seven
SLATER
Iswear I can’t keep up with the things that come out of this man’s mouth. He knows how to shock the hell out of me, that’s for sure. We’ve gone from him telling me he was a virgin and we needed to get married, then to us filling out a questionnaire, and now according to him, we’re already married.
“We aren’t basically anything. I don’t even like you.” I place the bowl down on the fancy coffee table, which might be a piece of art for all I know.
“You need to eat.” He picks the bowl back up.
