So she fed him another spoonful and muttered, "That was too smooth. I don't trust you."
Kian's mouth moved faintly. "You fed me anyway."
"Well," Isabella said with dignity, "that is because I'm kind."
He looked at her for one quiet second, then said, "You are."
That only made her cheeks warmer again.
As she continued feeding him, the mood in the room turned softer and softer. He ate slowly, more because he wanted to stay there with her than because the soup required caution, and she kept fussing over the temperature, whether he had enough meat, whether he was actually tasting it properly, and whether he was pretending to be more tired than he was just to make her baby him.
At one point, after swallowing another spoonful, Kian lifted his hand and placed it over hers on the bowl.
Then he slid it away from the bowl entirely and brought her hand to his chest.
Isabella blinked.
"What are you doing?"
"Keeping it," he said simply.
She laughed. "Keeping what?"
"This."
