Delgano: A Dark Contemporary Interracial Romance

He did not.

“It’s delicious. Could I make a recommendation?”

“Of course.”

“I like cacao.”

She looked up at the ceiling, eyes narrowed. “That gives me an idea for tomorrow, but this is nice, right? Switching things up. It makes your mornings more exciting. I’m sure they’ve been a little boring with only me to talk to.”

She couldn’t be more wrong.

Talking to her was the highlight of his day.

Initially, she would leave after setting out his meals, but then loneliness drove him to ask her to stay. When he found himself getting jealous of the attention she gave her phone, he started asking her questions. At first, she answered with one-word, clipped responses, but then he made her laugh.

After that, she opened up.

Slowly.

“Do you know if something’s going to happen?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. Although they were alone in this specific part of the house, they were never truly alone. “I’m going a little out of my mind.”

She flipped a pancake with a practiced flick of her wrist. “Honestly, the information I receive about you mostly deals with your likes and dislikes.”

Yet, she chose to add peach to his coffee? Who was funneling false information? When it came to coffee, he loved additions like cacao, toffee, brown sugar, caramel, and nut flavors. Basically, he wanted to drink a dessert.

“But I think some of the information’s a little off,” she added. “You don’t like the coffee.”

He set aside the mug. “No, I don’t.”

“Why’d you lie?”

“I didn’t want to offend you.”

“They say you’re ruthless.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Be ruthless.”

“Right, because you want me to kill you.”

“You tried to that first day we met.”

“Limited choice of weapons.”

“Nothing wrong with your hands.”

He looked down as if seeing them for the first time, turning them over and spreading his fingers wide. “You would have preferred that I choke you?” he asked.

She mumbled a response, set a stack of thin pancakes with dozens of air pockets on a plate, and placed the plate on a tray with other breakfast items. The only time he’d arrived in the kitchen and she was unprepared was that very first day. Ever since, his wait to eat never lasted longer than five minutes.

Today, along with the Beghrir pancakes, she’d prepared eggs, a preserved meat she’d served him before, honey butter, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a hunk of homemade bread.

She carried the tray to the dining area.

With her preoccupied, he grabbed additional plates, utensils, and a glass for her orange juice. Regardless of her response, she would be eating with him instead of sitting at the counter on a stool while they pretended not to hear her stomach growl.

“Eat with me,” he said.

She shrugged. “Nope. Not allowed.”

“You don’t strike me as the obedient type.”