He didn’t look up when I approached, which irritated me more than it should have.
“What are you doing?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“Cooking.”
“Obviously. Cooking what?” I asked, my arms crossed like I was ready to start a fight.
“Obviously. Fish,” he replied without even looking at me, his voice maddeningly calm.
I muttered something under my breath — something that probably wasn’t very flattering — and kicked at the dirt near my feet.
He finally glanced at me, just for a second. “You hungry?”
The question caught me off guard.
I hesitated, staring at him. My pride screamed no, but my stomach—traitorous thing—chose that exact moment to rumble softly. I clenched my jaw, hoping he didn’t notice.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, a little too quickly.
He turned the fish again, the si
