ANGEL
I stayed quiet, not bothering to deny that the thought had crossed my mind.
He nearly added something to the pot, then stopped and cursed under his breath. “f**k. You’re allergic to shrimp.”
I was surprised that he remembered something like that. I had only eaten a shrimp snack once in my life and my skin was spotted red for days, but this had occurred about five years ago, why did Daniel know about it?
He dropped the ingredient, “Inés has a bad habit of mislabeling things,” he muttered, more to himself than me.
My curiosity was piqued. “Who’s Inés?”
“The housekeeper.” He gave me a look like I was dumb for asking something I obviously didn’t know.
The food was placed in front of me nearly an hour later. The pasta looked perfect—almost exactly like the kind Martha used to mak
