Thankful for the chance to catch her breath and snap herself out the second spell he’d put her under that evening, she rested her chin on her palm and watched him prepare two plates. He poured them both champagne from the open bottle and sat beside her to eat.

Her stomach rumbling, she picked up her fork and took a bite. Spices and tender chicken caressed her taste buds. “God, that’s good,” she said around a mouthful. “You have excellent chefs here.”

He swallowed his bite and studied her as she dug in with relish. “To a woman who lives on Twinkies and Coke, I’m sure it does taste good.”

“I don’t live on Twinkies and Coke!”

His lips twisted. “That’s true, sometimes you throw a bag of Doritos in there, or a peanut butter sandwich. Is that for protein?”

She shrugged, knowing full well her diet was less than exemplary. “I’m used to eating on the road. I never learned to cook for myself.”

“Maybe while you’re here, I could help you learn.”

She gave him a lingering glance, from the tips of his Ferragamo shoes to the cuff of his Armani shirt. Nothing about Thomas Monahan was prêt-à-porter. “You cook?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Most earth witches do. Something about cooking up spells translates to cooking up meals.” He took a bite of chicken.

She picked up an asparagus stalk and studied him as she licked the tip. His chewing abruptly stopped and his gaze locked on her mouth. Isabelle suppressed a smile and puckered her lips as she slid the stalk within slowly and took a bite. Once she’d swallowed, she asked, “What would we make together?”

“Whatever you wanted. Vegetable stir-fry or miso chicken for example. Anything you can think of.”

“Miso chicken? What the hell is that? How about something practical, like tuna fish casserole. That’s the stuff I really need to learn how to make.”

“How about meatloaf, then?”

A memory swelled. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering. “I haven’t had meatloaf in forever. Angela and I lived with a woman named Maggie Price for a while who would cook and bake for us. She used to make the best meatloaf. On rainy days when we couldn’t go outside to play, we’d stay in and bake chocolate chip cookies. Staying with her was one of the few times”—she glanced at Thomas, realizing how much she’d disclosed and how easily she’d disclosed it—“I felt…safe.” She ducked her head and nibbled another asparagus stalk.

Thomas took a bite, carefully chewed, and swallowed before he asked, “You didn’t feel safe when you were a child?”