Daz made something unpronounceable.
It involved couscous. And rice. And it smelled really good, even if Stefan had no idea what was in it. Daz simply said it was Moroccan, authentic as he could get it with ingredients from Asda, and if Stefan didn’t like then he was welcome to say so.
“Yannis turns his nose up every time but screw him—if I have to suffer through his histrionics every time I have a kebab, then he can eat my mum’s signature dish once in a while.”
“It’s not so bad if your mum makes it!” came an outraged shout from the next room, and Stefan groaned.
“Ears like a bat,” Daz said wickedly, then ducked in to kiss Stefan’s mouth sharply. “Don’t worry so much. I know he looks a bit severe and scary, but he’s more interested in maths than men.”
“Yeah, but it’s always the quiet o
