Forty One
Bella's POV
The air is thick with the scent of rosemary and garlic. Jameson's laugh is a low rumble against my skin, the sound sending shivers down my spine. I am flipping through recipe pages as I try to make a meal for us for the night.
"You know," he says, his voice husky, "You're a terrible cook."
I swat his arm playfully. "No, I'm not. I'm just a little bit confused about which would come first between the chills and—"
He chuckles at my explanation. "Come on, Bella. Just admit it."
"I'm the one who made the delicious meal you ate just a few minutes ago." I retort, pointing at the spread on the table.
He takes my hand, bringing it to his lips. He kisses my palm, his gaze lingering on my eyes. "Yeah, but you're a much better cuddler. How about we forget the food and devour each other instead?"