‘You did not like the stew.’ I turned, wary. ‘What?’ ‘The stew I made you was not to your taste.’ He kept reading as my lips parted, a quick denial leaping to my tongue. ‘Fear not. I knew from the first bite.’ ‘Wait. You knew I didn’t like it?’ I abandoned the pan to stare at him. ‘And you still let me eat it?’ ‘I did.’ When I realised, my cheeks warmed. The glow in his eyes had been amusement, not delight at his culinary success. He had been amused. ‘You utter—’ For the first time in days, I laughed. ‘How did you know?’ ‘Perhaps I have gained some experience in reading your expressions,’
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This is so funny
