As though she suspects the direction of my thoughts, she straightens and adopts a casual pose like she never sat on my lap, never let me pet her as the sun set. “Don’t tell me you’re hungry again.”

No mention of the cuddle or the uncomfortable conversation about Sam. For that, I’m grateful. Maybe it’s for the best that we don’t talk about Sam. Ever.

I move farther into the warmth of the kitchen. “Since you got here, I’m always hungry.”

She can make of that what she wants.

She’s been bent over a stove, so the flush on her cheeks might be from the heat. Or maybe not. She nods toward a pressed tin container on the counter. “I made some oat bars. Nothing exciting, but they’re on your approved list.”

“I think we both know how I feel about that damn list.”

The corners of her lips curl in amusement. “Yes, we do.”

I stand at the end of the counter, close enough to be within touching distance but not crowd her. “What are you making now?”

She’s got two pots going, one of them covered.

“A bordelaise sauce.” At my interested look, she grabs a spoon out of the canister filled with clean ones that she keeps near the stove and dips it in the pot before handing it to me.

The sauce is a glossy mahogany, and when I slip it into my mouth, I close my eyes and groan. Rich, deep, dense—I don’t have the words to do it justice.

I open my eyes to find her staring with an unreadable expression on her face.

“God damn, Tot.” I lick the spoon, desperate to get another taste. I whimper this time.

Delilah watches me, and her nostrils flare like she’s sucking in a quick breath, but her voice remains smooth as old silk. “Don’t worry; I won’t be using much of it. Just a spoonful on top of a flat iron steak. Shouldn’t be too many calories.”

I cut her a reproachful glare. “Don’t you dare skimp. I’d bathe in this if I could.”

With a husky laugh, she takes my spoon and puts it in the sink. “As delightful as that image sounds, let’s keep the sauce on our plates.”

“That’s not half as fun.” I pull out a stool and sit to alleviate the ache in my leg.

Delilah eyes me. “You hurting a lot today?”

Since she’s already taken me to task for denying my pain, I answer her truthfully. “Yes.”

With a hum, she starts on a turmeric latte. I don’t know how much they actually reduce pain, but it’s soothing and something made just for me. I accept her gift and curl my fingers around the cup, stealing its warmth.