Chapter Thirty-Four
My yes sounds choked and wheezy, even to my ears. I clear my throat and try again. “Yes. The risotto on the flight was delicious. But I could definitely eat again.”
“Good. I had Yahto get us a few things. They’re in the fridge.”
“Great,” I say, “Give me a few minutes and I’ll see what I can pull together.”
I head in the direction of the gray-on-silver open plan kitchen at the front of the apartment, grateful to have something to distract me from the guilty mongoose running circles in my head.
But Holt moves in front of me before I can take another step. “No, not this time.”
“Wait. What do you mean ‘not this time?’” I ask, scrunching my face.
“I’m making dinner,” he answers. He guides me over to one of the tall stools on the other side of the kitchen island. “You
