Chapter 52 - Emotional Stress And Angel Food

Eric's POV:

“Baby? What are you doing? I have a fucking MasterChef to cook for us.”

My love… There’s indeed nothing you can’t do…

She doesn’t look at me at all. Her hands go so fucking fast on everything. Like a pro.

“Satan? Do you see what I have in my right hand?”

What?

Still not looking at me. She’s serving me a cold attitude, like always. She’s iced again.

“A knife, baby?”

My She Devil…

I’m in front of her now, on the other side of the counter, heated up and with a bull stare and attitude to match, with my hands in my pockets. She has an apron, a red one, and her hair is in a ponytail. She has, I think, a soup on the stove, some chicken food, I see something in the oven, and she made some brownies too. Now she’s making a mix of a salad something.

I so love you, Angel…