“I am ignoring you and your smartarse interruptions,” she replied, “because they do not deserve acknowledgment. As I was saying—”

“You do realize that claiming you won’t acknowledge something is an acknowledgment in itself.”

You already injured him yesterday, Eve. At least let him recover before you beat him over the head. “As I was saying, here is the plan. You hold the plate, and I,” she murmured, fighting a smile as she picked up his fork, “will feed you.”

He reacted just as wonderfully as Eve had expected. Which is to say, his eyes widened with comical horror, that vicious mouth fell into a rather satisfying O, and more strawberry ice cream crept up his pale cheeks—the outraged kind, this time, which had a sort of raspberry tinge.

“Feed me?” he sputtered.

Eve couldn’t hold back her smile anymore. It spread evilly across her face. A snicker might have escaped, too. “That is what I said.”

“Are you taking the piss? I’m not having you feed me. That is unnecessary—”

“Do you have another solution, then?”

“—and completely inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate?” Eve blinked, taken aback for a moment. “Oh—you don’t mean to say you’re sensitive about the idea of me shoving a sausage down your throat?”

To her surprise, instead of scoffing at her admittedly risqué joke, Jacob simply blushed harder. “Do you ever shut up?” he muttered.

“Do you?”

“Of course. When I’m alone,” he said, “which I seriously wish I was right now.”

“But then how would you eat my delicious test breakfast?”

“Oh, fuck off. I told you about the logic and the intelligence and the making points. It unsettles me. Stop.”

Eve didn’t mean to grin. It just . . . happened.

“How about this,” Jacob said after a moment. “You hold my plate, and I feed myself.”

“I had considered that,” she said.

“And disregarded it because?”

“Because feeding is a dominant action. A helpful action. An action that inf—infant . . .” Oh dear. There was nothing worse than confusing her words when she was trying to be badass.

She waited for Jacob to pounce on her stutter, but all he did was sigh and drawl acidly, “I’m assuming you are searching for the word infantilize.”

“Oh. Yes. Thank you.” Eve brightened. Let the badassery continue. “Feeding is an action that infantilizes you. Whereas holding something, like a table, is servile, and I am not servile.”

Jacob stared. “First of all, you think like a wolf under all that pastel hair.”

Said the wolf himself.

“And second of all, you literally work for me. You should be servile.”

“I thought I didn’t work for you yet?”

“Well, you’re trying to,” he snapped. “Embrace servility in your soul, and maybe I’ll hire you.”

“Do you often encourage servility in the souls of the black women around you?”

“Do I—the—” He shut his mouth with a click and glared. “Again. You think like a wolf.”

“Thank you. Now open up for the choo-choo train.”

“Murder,” Jacob murmured. “I am going to commit a murder.” But to Eve’s surprise, when she stabbed some egg and a chunk of sausage onto the fork, Jacob opened his mouth and took it.