Maeve saw the muscle in Cassian’s jaw jump, his grip tightening on the knife handle. He wasn't just cold anymore; he was simmering. She quickly hopped down from the kitchen counter, her bare feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. She wrapped her arms around his right arm—the one still holding the knife—and leaned her weight against him to get his attention.
"Sweetheart, forget about Julian and just cook, okay?" she said, her voice soft and teasing. "I’m starving. Do you really want your wife to drop dead from hunger just because you're caught up in a jealous fit? Don't worry, I’ll help you cook to speed things up."
Cassian stiffened at her touch, his eyes still fixed on the cutting board. "I am not jealous, Maeve," he said, his voice deep and flat. "I am simply stating a fact.
Julian
