Page 25

I don’t know the saying, but I do know all about pretending.

I nod.

“So yeah, it’s a play on that. My grandfather bought it for me because I’m a baker.”

A baker. I know what those are. They make sweet carby foods that don’t sit well with me. Sorely lacking in protein most of the time.

“For fun or…?” I already know the answer, but I’m enjoying the conversation and want to continue hearing Caspian speak.

“For work.” He blushes and dips his head. “But it’s more than that.”

“It’s a passion,” I say, carrying the sliced croissants over to him.

Caspian nods, taking the croissant pieces from me. He spreads them out in a glass dish, then pours the egg and milk liquid over them.

He’s pouring oil into the pan when there’s a pitter patter behind me. I know by the scent what it is before the goat rounds the island and butts her head against my leg. She doesn’t fear me the way the cat does, the way an animal her size should. I am, after all, an apex predator, and she is a tiny tasty prey. But, as much as it’s in my nature to hunt little creatures like her, I would never hurt this particular goat. She seems important to my human. I’ve seen him talking to her, feeding her slices of fruit, rubbing her fur. She’s what humans refer to as a ‘pet’ and pets are not food.

The cat, on the other hand, with her pissy attitude, is fair game. I grin. I won’t actually hurt the little feline, because, like the goat, Caspian is attached. I’ve never been attached to anything…until now.

And I think my affinity for this human is on a level that would probably scare him.

Bending down, I pat the goat’s head, but she quickly grows tired of me and hops off to investigate something in a room off the side of the kitchen.

“Get out of there, Apple,” Caspian yells. He’s placing slices of croissant in the hot oil. “Pops…uh, my grandfather used to let the goats in the house. They’re very messy and destructive, but he liked their antics. Thought they were entertaining. I wasn’t a fan when we first got them.” He flips the croissant and the room fills with the scent of sweet baking bread.

“You like her now, though.”

Applesauce returns to the kitchen. She has a pair of blue boxers in her mouth. Caspian drops the spatula and makes a grab for the goat, fighting the fabric from her grasp.

“Yes. When she’s not stealing my shit, stomping in the flowerbed or getting out of the barn.” He nudges the goat’s butt towards the back door. “This one is a troublemaker. Her sister is more reserved.”

Caspian doesn’t close the door when he returns to the stove and plates up two slices of fried pastry, so Applesauce happily skips back into the kitchen and starts rustling through a box next to the garbage bin. He looks at her and rolls his eyes.

“I always said we should have got a dog,” he muses. “You hear that Apple? I’m gonna swap you for a sheepdog.” There’s a fondness in his words and a smile toying at his lips, betraying his threat. He places another two slices of croissant into the frying pan. Applesauce bleats as if she understands and is less than impressed.

I decide I like her.

Not as food.

When he’s finished frying all the slices, Caspian places them on a plate in the centre of the island. Then he gets out sugar and cinnamon and pours two glasses of water.

“Do you want to eat outside?” he asks, plating up his food and sprinkling a hefty amount of sugar over the top of it.

“You like things sweet,” I say, pointing at his plate.

“Food, yes. But not everything. I like things that are…less sweet.” He smiles, a flush glowing on his cheeks.

Why is he so fucking adorable? I could eat him. Well, not eat, but taste. Lick and suck and touch and…heat blooms in my lower body and though I should push the thoughts away, I don’t.

“Like what, Caspian?”

He laughs. “Uh, don’t worry. That was a ridiculous comment.” He dips his head. “Sorry. I’m really shit at this.”

“Shit at what?” I bend my head, forcing him to look at me. “You have made a meal and are good company. And now your cheeks are a delightful shade of pink.” Dropping my voice, I step closer. “But I’ll let you in on a secret. I like things whatever the opposite of sweet is. Rough, maybe.”

“Rough isn’t the opposite of sweet,” he retorts, a smirk on his face, heat spreading down his neck now.

I shrug. “Yes, but now you know, sweet Caspian.”