She groaned. “Fine, I’ll order something. Happy?”
“Nope.” He shook his head, smug. “You’re not ordering anything.”
She blinked at him. “Okay... no food then?”
“I didn’t say that either,” he said, already opening his door. “I’m cooking.”
Georgia stared at him like he’d just grown wings. “You?”
Lucian leaned back inside the car, arching a brow. “Yes. Me. Problem?”
She laughed, her voice light for the first time that day. “Wow. You still cook? I honestly can’t remember the last time I ate your food. Maybe back in college? You burnt the rice and blamed me.”
“That was one time,” he grinned, shutting his door. “And it was your cheap pot.”
Georgia stepped out of the car and met him at the front of the hood, shaking her head. “Excuses. But fine. You can have the kitchen.”
He followed her
