Chapter 27 - 2am Dinner

"its food..." she said as if that explained everything.

Dorian slowly pulled out his card. "Dangerous little woman."

She left him with both the bill and the responsibility of loading everything into the car. By the third bag, Dorian stopped and stared into the trunk.

What the fuck was he doing?

Seriously.

What was this? His other wives had employed cooks. People who handled groceries and refrigerators and whatever other domestic mysteries apparently occurred behind the scenes.

He had never once followed any of them through a grocery store.

By the time they reached the townhouse, it was late enough that Dorian could practically feel the next morning waiting around the corner to attack him.

Naomi was out of the car before he had even turned off the engine. He opened the trunk. She grabbed one bag.

Then disappeared toward the elevator. He stared after her.

"Unbelievable."

The entire process repeated itself upstairs. He brought the groceries in. She was already in the kitchen.

Her jacket was gone. Her sleeves were pushed up. An apron had appeared from somewhere. He had absolutely no idea how she had managed to transform in under three minutes.

She was unpacking ingredients quickly, placing everything exactly where she wanted it. Meat on one side.

Vegetables on another.

This Naomi barely rambled. She knew exactly what she was doing. He stood in the kitchen entrance holding two grocery bags and watched her for a second.

He could understand why she loved this. She looked completely at ease. He walked over and set the bags down, then looked at the ingredients spread across his kitchen. "We could have just ordered dinner."

"We should celebrate our contract, don’t you think?" Naomi grabbed a pressure cooker from one of the lower cabinets.

Dorian frowned. "You know where everything is already?"

"I explored."

"When?"

"Last night."

"Of course you did."

She put the cooker on the counter. He loosened the top buttons of his shirt.

"I’m gonna go change while you do whatever it is you do."

Naomi started sorting the beef. He turned toward the door. "Hurry up. I’ll need you to mash some potatoes for me."

He could practically see his morning schedule collapsing in front of him. He needed to be awake by six. He had work.

An actual career.

Instead, he was about to spend midnight mashing potatoes.

"Oh God..." He sighed heavily and left the kitchen.

Naomi watched him go. Then she chuckled and returned to her work. She seasoned the meat, organized the vegetables and started preparing the pressure cooker with a lightness she had not felt all day.

Teaching Dorian Heathcliffe some humility wasn’t bad...wasn’t bad at all.

*****

If Dorian was honest with himself, cooking with Naomi was fun. He had started the night complaining.

Now, nearly two hours later, he was still standing in the kitchen. She had music playing quietly from her phone.

She laughed constantly, took pictures of the food at different stages, occasionally pushed him out of the frame, then dragged him back in five minutes later when she needed someone to hold something.

At one point, she recorded a short video of him struggling with the potatoes. He immediately stopped.

"Delete that."

"No."

"I am a respected attorney."

She laughed and turned the camera toward herself. He reached for the phone. She squealed and jumped away.

"Give me that." He chased her around the island once before deciding that he was a fucking grown man.

Naomi laughed so hard she had to lean against the counter. He found himself smiling. She was so full of life that he was beginning to think there had to be a reason for it.

Because how could anyone—anyone at all—in this fucked-up world be this annoyingly happy? She was like a child.

Naomi seemed capable of finding joy in things Dorian would barely notice. He had grown up in a happy family, granted.

A genuinely happy one. His parents loved each other. He had never questioned whether he was loved.

But Heathcliffe happiness had always been refined. There was always a reason for everyone to be happy.

A scheduled occasion. Someone announcing something worth celebrating. Naomi apparently did not require an occasion.

And by God, she was a magician in the kitchen. Once Naomi started cooking properly, everything about her changed.

Her hands were everywhere. Her mouth moved almost as quickly as her hands, explaining what she was doing whether Dorian asked or not.

Most of it went directly over his head. He understood enough to know she was good. Put a knife in her hand and a pan in front of her and suddenly she knew exactly who she was.

He finally asked the question that had been sitting in his head for the last hour. "Are you on drugs?"

Naomi burst out laughing.

"I’m serious. I think no human being should have this much energy at almost two in the morning."

Naomi leaned against the counter, still laughing. "I assure you, aside from coffee, I have no guilty pleasures." She turned back to the stove. "But I love what I do. I love to cook." She glanced back at him. "I’m sure you’re the same way at your job."

Dorian considered that. He loved winning. Loved the exact moment someone across a courtroom realized he had found the hole in their case.

Loved difficult cases. Especially the ones everyone else thought could not be won.

So yes.

He supposed he understood. He checked the time. Then groaned. "Speaking of jobs, I have to call Adrian. I’ll take an off day tomorrow."

Naomi looked at him. "Why?"

"Because we are having dinner at two a.m." He gestured toward the kitchen. "No way that is healthy."

"So you’ll be home all day?"

"I think so."

"I have to be at work for most of the day," she said as she began to serve their food, cutting into the meat.

"Which one?" Dorian asked.

Naomi glanced over as she arranged the plates. "Both."