CHAPTER NINETY TWO

I approached the door to Lysander's home with high hopes and even higher nerves.

I had never been here before, despite being his neighbor for months already. He just always chose to come to my house.

The exterior of the home was a two-story colonial with beautiful shrubs and flowers expertly arranged on the front lawn. Despite being over a hundred and fifty years old, it appeared brand new, with clean white siding and black shutters straddling each window. There were pillars that held up a balcony on the top floor and a tall and angled roof.

It wasn't particularly huge but looked a little bit smaller than ours. That made sense since he had mentioned nobody besides Luna had ever visited him here before. Yet another honor I was pleased to accept.

I climbed the grand stone steps to the front door, nervously straightening my turquoise cotton sundress with the palms of my hands. I had spent all morning trying to decide what I would wear. To be honest, I didn't want to just wear jeans or shorts again. I hardly ever left the house and I missed dressing up.

It wasn't like I was wearing heels or anything, though. I had on a pair of gray Toms and had my hair tied up in a high ponytail since we would be cooking.

Naturally, Lysander opened the door before I got to knock. I had gotten used to this when dealing with fellow supernaturals. They always knew when someone was approaching.

He, of course, looked as flawless as usual. He was dressed in a black V-neck t-shirt and dark jeans. He didn't usually dress in such gloomy colors, but I sort of liked it. It made him look more like a bad boy rather than preppy like he normally did.

He wiped his hands on a caramel colored dish towel before slinging it over his shoulder and dazzling me with a smile.

"Hey there, pretty lady. Looks like you're just on time. Please." He stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter with a slight bow.

The home itself was stunning. I felt as if I had stepped back in time. Every element of its design, save the electronic devices, was reminiscent of the era it was built. Even the wallpaper was one you would have found back then.

The craftsmanship of the ornate wooden furniture told me that it must've also been from that time period.

Except everything was in flawless, like-new condition, preserved through the decades.

Not to mention it was clean and orderly. Even the books on the built-in shelves appeared to be delicately arranged and organized. I had never met a more cleanly man, except maybe Rory.

No, I wouldn't think of Rory. Not today.

"So, what do you think?" He asked, his arms snaking around my waist from behind.

"I think that you were right. It's stunningly simple." I said in awe, trying to take every little detail. "Where did you get all of the antiques to furnish it?" He chuckled, placing a kiss into my hair.

"I bought them. Most of my furniture was custom made by a famous craftsman of that era." My mouth dropped open.

"Wait, so you bought these new? When did you move into this house?"

He turned me, searching my face for a reaction, before saying, "I helped build it."

If my jaw wasn't on the floor before, it certainly was now. I always seemed to forget how old Lysander really was. He had lived through so many eras, so many lifetimes. These items probably didn't even seem that old to him.

"Oh. Right. Of course you did." He grinned, apparently pleased with my surprise.

"Would you like to see the kitchen?" He asked excitedly, pulling me in by my hips. He looked like an eager child, desperate for my approval. I nodded, smiling back.

"Is it a real kitchen, though? Or will I be learning on a furnace? Because I'm not very good at chopping wood." He snorted at my remark, shaking his head.

"You're trouble, dear. That mouth of yours will get you in all sorts of terrible situations."

"Oh yea?"

"Yes, sweetheart." He confirmed, leaning forward slowly to capture my lips. Was this trouble? I didn't think so. I loved having his mouth on mine. He was tender and loving, yet there was also an element of control and possessiveness. He was a man with power, and he showed it in the confident way he touched me.

"Okay, you've proven your point," I whispered against his lips. "Now teach me to cook, before we get too distracted, old man."

He leaned back, narrowing his eyes.

 "Old man, eh?"

I bit my lip, my eyes alight with mischief.

"Am I wrong?" I teased.

He raised a brow.

 "Yes, actually. Physically, I'm only twenty-seven. That's quite young."

Twenty-seven? That's a random age. Hundreds of questions flooded my mind. If he's a deity, why does he have a physical age? Could he change his body to look older or younger? Was he ever a child?

Before I could ask anything, he pulled me behind him towards the back room. We passed through a gorgeous dining room, set with fine dishes and cutlery, before entering one of the most awe-inspiring kitchens I had ever seen in my life. The place was massive and truly looked like a chef's kitchen.

I didn't even care that it threw off the aesthetic of the rest of the house, because it was perfect. I ran my hand along the butcher block island, my eyes flitting to the various pots and pans suspended from a steel rack above my head.

"So where do you keep the furnace?"

"Keep it up," he threatened playfully, crossing to a cupboard to retrieve two aprons.

I had never used an apron and I eyed it hesitantly.

"I don't want you to get your beautiful dress dirty."

I blushed lightly, taking it from him and draping it over my neck. He crossed behind me to tie it and gave my neck a quick peck before donning his own.

"What are we making today?"

"It's a dish called coq au vin. It's simple and delicious."

"French?"

He nodded, stretching above his head to pull down the needed pots and pans. He looked glorious, the muscles on his arms flexing beneath his ivory skin.

Once he gathered supplies, he began gathering ingredients. He crossed to a small wine fridge beneath one of the countertops and selected a vintage bottle of red wine.

"We'll only need part of it. We can drink the rest with dinner." He spoke aloud, but I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or himself. He seemed so calm and in his element. Everything was second nature for him, and the grace he possessed to even cross from one side of the room to the other was making me envious.

He removed some mushrooms, onions, and garlic, setting them on the steel prep station along with a wooden cutting board.

"Ready to begin?" He finally turned to me, a beaming white smile on his face.

He wasn't lying about the dish being simple, though the remainder of the wine didn't last until we were finished, seeing as we both kept sneaking sips as we cooked. I helped him chop vegetables and prepare, but the chicken was already marinated when we started. Overall, that part of the night had been a success, and I only almost accidentally cut off my finger once.

I finished setting the plates on the dining table while Lysander grabbed another bottle of wine—white wine this time—for us to eat with our meal. I was thankful for the change, since his gorgeous tablecloth was white and I just knew I would've spilled red wine on it.

I moaned with my first bite, unable to suppress my pleasure with the way the meat was melting on my tongue. It was hands-down the best food I had ever tasted. And it was easy to make!

Lysander's chuckle focused my attention on him. He was chewing his own food slowly, a smirk playing at his lips as he looked down at his plate.

"Don't laugh at me," I scolded, fighting my smile. His bright eyes flitted to mine, showing his joy.

"I'm not. I'm laughing because I never imagined we would be doing this. Cooking together, eating together, just being together. It's amazing to me that something so simple could make me so happy."

His words warmed my heart. How could a man like him even exist? He was perfect, despite his attitude sometimes. Romantic, kind, incredibly talented and selfless.

Though I hadn't said it since that night on the beach, I still meant it.

"I love you." His fork clattered back to his plate, making both of us jump.

"Shit, sorry." He fumbled, removing his cloth napkin from the table to clean up the sauce that splattered due to the impact.

"No, it's my fault. I caught you off guard. I'm sorry." Why was I so awkward?

"No!" He nearly shouted, his hand darting for mine. "I mean, don't be sorry for saying that. I'm really glad you did. I just wasn't expecting it, but damn... I love you, too, Aria." His cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink, and I could tell he wanted to kiss me based on the way his eyes kept dancing between my lips and my eyes.

"Before we, um, get too distracted. Could I possibly hear your story?" He gulped, pulling his gaze from mine and looking down at his plate again.

"Yeah. Of course. Right." He paused, biting at his bottom lip as if in deep thought, before clasping his hands together in his lap. "Now, before I begin, I want you to know that very few people know this story. Also, it would be easier for me if you kept your questions for the end. I have a lot to cover. Is that okay?"

I nodded, finishing off my glass of wine. I had a feeling I would need it.

"Okay. I guess I'll just start at the beginning. I'm not actually a god."