Page 29 of Time for You
“Because it’s impolite to simply wait around while someone struggles with something.”
“I was not struggling.”
Henry lifted an eyebrow. “You were grunting.”
The bags had been heavy, but she hadn’t realized her effort was literally showing. “Maybe I just do that, did you ever think of that?”
“You don’t.”
“How do you know?”
Henry leveled his eyes at her, and suddenly her lungs felt tight. “I notice things about you, my lady.”
“Oh, yeah, well,” she said inarticulately. She searched in vain for a topic that might make her feel a little less like squirming in the intensity of his gaze. “Any chance you feel like you know me well enough to stop with the ‘Miss Griffin’ and ‘my lady’ shit yet?”
Henry huffed out a noise that might have been a laugh and started unpacking the groceries. “No.”
“Then how about Dr. Griffin? As a compromise?”
Henry nodded to himself and considered a carton of eggs. “Dr. Griffin,” he repeated, and—oh no, that was a bad idea. His Scottish lilt wrapped a little too nicely around those words, and now she wished she could take it back.Miss Griffinwas annoying as hell, butDr. Griffin, even though people called her that every day, felt somewhat different coming from Henry.
Fortunately, he was too engrossed in studying the eggs to notice her meltdown. “How did you learn how to cook?”
“I don’t really know. I guess I didn’t, or at least not really. My mom taught me the basics the summer before I went to college, and then I just sort of muddled along. Why?”
“It’s not something I ever gave much thought to. Food generally just appears at mealtimes for me at home, and yes, I know how that sounds,”he added before she could. “My mother handled menu planning with the cook and the other servants, but other than having some particular favorite dishes, I never really considered it and the effort it takes.”
Daphne wasn’t sure how to respond to that, as yes, it did sound incredibly entitled, but at least he seemed to get that. “Would you want to learn?”
“To cook? You just said you don’t really know how.”
“I mean, I do know some stuff, but it isn’t something I really enjoy. Except—hey, have you tried watching TV?”
Henry shot a wary glance at their television. “No, it feels like too much.”
“Okay, I have an idea,” she said, and walked over, turning it on and clicking through the apps. “This show is on PBS, which is—god, I don’t know how to explain it, but it means it will be a little less intense than other shows. Calmer, less interested in selling you stuff. Educational.”
“That sounds interesting,” he said cautiously.
Daphne picked a show at random and hit “Play.” “Here, this will teach you about cooking better than I can. I promise,” she said as the host began the cheerful introduction to the topics for the episode.
Henry sat down, his attention already off her and fully on the show, which was what she’d wanted, although that also felt weird.
She couldn’t wait for him to get back to his time and stop throwing her so goddamn off balance. Daphne returned to putting the groceries away, and just when she was sure he’d forgotten she was even there, Henry turned her way. “Miss—Dr. Griffin?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” he said, so sincerely she wasn’t sure how to respond. Instead she just bit her lower lip to keep from smiling and nodded.
Chapter Eleven
“He’s from the past—he’s not a dog,” Ellie said. “We can just explain to him where stuff is.”
“He’s literally never done anything for himself, ever.”
“He’s standing right here, you know,” Henry interjected mildly.
“Have you ever made a meal for yourself? With your own two hands?” Daphne asked.
