CAROLINE
S
itting
across from James at the table, I propped my chin in my palm as I waited for him to take his first bite. Anticipation curled in my gut, and I held my breath even as the smell of my meal wafted into my nostrils to tempt me. Through narrowed eyes I watched him saw through what I hoped would be a perfectly cooked venison steak with borderline excitement splattered across his expression.
I wasn’t sure when his last home-cooked meal had been, but that only made hope blossom that he’d like it more.
James had stormed off before he’d cut the flank into steaks, and my gaze flickered down to his plate. I’d done my best, but the counter was basically neck level; there was no way I could butcher a perfect cut. Covering my cheek with my fingers, I couldn’t hide my smile shining w
