19.

This was how I ended up sitting on the kitchen island while watching him prepare dinner. From time to time, I got down to find him some ingredients, or to show him where a ladle was, and so on.

He tried to make small talk while I simply listened. None of what he was talking about interested me, so I opted to only answer his few questions regarding my work, which was the only part I felt comfortable with.

'Am I crazy for thinking he looks so hot chopping onions? Sher, let's just get this straight. I am untypically insane tonight. Because excuse me, who gets hot over seeing a man with a knife, shirtless and chopping onions? I think my fur is sticking to me,' Robyn rambled.

She never rambles. At least, not until she's nervous, or at the brink of another one of her sexual tensions. And I'm going to bet everything I have that this was the latter. But she wasn't kidding about him looking hot.

There was just something...sweet...cute, about watching him cook. Roll the meatballs. Chop the bell peppers. Dice the onions. Everything. The way the veins on his hands flex and jots around as he works is endearing, and more than once, I found myself licking my lips.

Ugh! I'm turning into a mess.

"How was your flight?" He asked suddenly, as I watched him fry the meatballs, his hand carefully flipping the balls in the pan.

And, he was making conversation again.

"It was good," I shrugged, suddenly feeling the need to drink some water. "I sat close to a very nice guy," I added, and I had no idea why I did.

But when he stopped stirring, and a strangled growl left his mouth, I think I knew why I did. And I don't even regret it.

"Nice," came his dry reply as he resumed cooking. "I bet he has a good sense of humor?"

"Hmmn," I thought, taking a sip of my water. "I can't really say..." I tapped my finger on the glass before me. "He does seem to. Not that I cared about that though," I answered truthfully, because throughout the flight, I was mostly listening to a podcast and doing more research. The guy did try to strike a conversation with me, but I hated the way he kept staring at my cleavage so I simply ignored him.

"A surprise you didn't smell how bad he was," he said in a clipped tone.

"Huh?"

He added the tomato puree into hot olive oil and kept his gaze fixed on me. "He has a record for assault. And yet, you seemed utterly comfortable sitting close to him." He replied.

My stomach dropped, and I instantly felt something coil deep within me. Something dark. Like a flash of what I had seen Tanaya endured growing up. A glimpse of the childhood she thought I never knew about. One she had hidden for years.

But not hidden enough for me to find out.

"How did you know?" I managed to ask, shoving down the gripping fear tightening around my chest. "It's not like we took the same flight."

"I have my ways," he simply said, returning to his cooking.

I shut my eyes, willing for that gruesome image to vanish from my brain. But like always, it didn't. Instead, it stayed, as though it had a permanent house in my brain.

How had Addah managed to keep this? To endure it? When only a glimpse of that is still torturing me?

'No cause for panic, Sher. Deep breaths. Addah is good, and maybe, what we saw may not be what it seems since she never...'

'She never spoke because she was scared. I saw the fear in her eyes sometimes,' I cut her off.

But before I could continue, I smelt his scent so close to me.

"Are you okay?" He asked softly, leaning across the table close to me. "You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine," I forced a smile. Or better yet, a grimace. "It just didn't sit well with me that you knew who sat close to me. Not that I believe you or..."

"He wore a red beanie, a white shirt and blue jeans. He has a knife cut on his right cheek, and a part of his right ear is off."

I gaped at him. I didn't know about that ear, but I did see the knife scar on his cheek. But that doesn't matter, what matters is Maverick knew.

"How..."

"Finding out you sat close to him and then you weren't replying to my texts scared me," he whispered, bringing his thumb to swipe at my bottom lip softly. "I couldn't think straight. And nothing or no one mattered until I was sure you were okay." He finished.

I was completely lost for words, as though my vocal cords had been tied with a string.

"So when I found him, I started by beating the crap out of him before I started asking questions. All I could think of..." he paused, swallowed hard then continued, "all I wanted was to find you safe and sound. It was the only thought on my mind," then he leaned in, his breath hitting me more, and just when I thought he was going to kiss me, (not that I would have allowed it), he pecked my cheek and moved away.

I let out a ragged breath, watching as he straightened up and stared at me for a few more seconds before looking away.

"I'll need to do something about keeping you safe. Otherwise, I will lose my damn heart before I even have the guts to give it out," he grumbled.

I didn't reply. Because I knew I had nothing to say, or what the right reaction to show his confession was. All I knew was I was falling fast and hard into the rabbit hole, and it makes no slight sense to me whatsoever.

So, instead of dwelling on it, I chose to ignore it all and watched as he finished preparing dinner.

We ate a quiet dinner, with neither one of us speaking a single word. As soon as I was done devouring the pasta, I bade him goodnight and escaped to my room.

It took me a long time to finally fall asleep. It was a restless kind of sleep that left me even more exhausted than I was when I got into bed. By the time I woke up in the morning, Maverick was already gone.

But there was a note left on the couch he had slept on.

'This was one of the best nights I've ever had. Thanks for having me, Kitten.'