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He steps inside and then turns to me, his bottom lip trapped beneath his teeth. “Um…” He looks at the staircase leading to the upper floor. “Not right now. But he will be…um…soon. So don’t murder me or anything.”

If I was a better man or beast, I would give him an out, but I’m not going to deny myself the chance to spend time with him.

Lifting my hands, I say, “If you insist, I will refrain from all my murderous tendencies in your presence.”

Caspian makes a strange noise that is somewhere between a laugh and a grunt, and I wonder briefly if he’s going to call an end to this whole thing. Thankfully, he doesn’t, instead he steps to the side and ushers me in. I catch myself just as I turn towards the kitchen, remembering he thinks this is my first time in his house.

Caspian’s looking at me with furrowed brows.

“Have we met before? I mean, besides that day on the beach.”

My heart sinks, but I choose not to lie to him. “Do you think we’ve met before?”

He grins and points a finger at me. “You’re good at that. Answering without actually answering.” He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think we have. You just feel familiar, is all.”

My beast rumbles and I cough to cover the sound. It’s not lost on me that Caspian used the word ‘feel’ and not ‘look’.

“And that’s a good thing?”

His cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, and his voice is quiet when he answers. “It’s…it’s whatever. Now, what are you planning to cook?” He turns his back on me and walks into the kitchen. I follow closely behind, watching as he opens the back door, letting in a cool breeze. A grey cat strolls in, her back arching when she sees me. She hisses and walks backwards out of the kitchen. Caspian has his back to me, running his fingers over the green leaves on the windowsill, so he doesn’t see the cat’s reaction.

“I don’t have much in the fridge. There may be a few eggs and milk. I think I have some leftover croissants, though.”

This is where my lack of living as a human is going to come back to bite me. I’ve studied them enough to know how they cook, but I can’t say I know what flavours go with what or how to make a meal out of the few ingredients he has on offer.

“I can work with that,” I say, heading to the fridge and opening the door, hoping I find fish. I know what to do with fish. Or deer. Or cow. Or any kind of animal, really. Though I prefer it fresh…and raw. But I have learned that humans in general do not enjoy a chunk of meat straight from the source.

Taking out all the ingredients I find, I lay them on the counter, then flick through my hundreds of years of memories for something that will help right about now. Caspian must sense that I have no fucking idea what I’m doing, because he nudges my shoulder.

“Sit down. I’ll make us something.”

“I want to do it,” I say, because the thought of feeding him, providing for him, has warmth blooming throughout my entire body, and especially in my cock.

“What are you planning to make?”

“I…” I falter.

He lays a hand gently on my forearm, and my heart beats overtime, electric currents sparking under my skin.

“We’ll do it together. Do you like French Toast?”

“Sure.” I have no clue what that even is, and I’m technically a carnivore, but I’ll eat it. For him.

“Slice these for me.” Caspian places the croissants in front of me, then hands me a wooden board and a knife. I do as he asks, moving so that I’m standing on the far side of the counter so that I can watch him.

He hums a tune while he works, mixing the eggs and milk together in a bowl, then placing a pan on the stove. I watch him with rapt attention. The way he chews on his lip when he’s cracking the eggs, the movement of his muscles under his fair skin as he stirs the mixture and the way his eyes keep flicking to me.

“I like your t-shirt,” I say. While I’m not the strongest reader – I’ve never needed the skill – I know enough to sound out short words.

Caspian smiles. “Thanks.”

The problem comes when I don’t understand what the words mean when placed together. Like now.

“What does it mean?” I read the words printed across the front of his t-shirt. “Bake it ‘til you make it?”

Caspian’s smile widens.

“It’s a play on the saying ‘fake it ‘til you make it’. You know, when you pretend hard enough to appear like you’re an expert at something?”