Chapter 46
46:
“Thank you, Dr. Hampton…” Christina nodded with red eyes, but her heart remained completely calm. She even felt like laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Still, she forced herself to put on an act. If she slipped, these two sharp-eyed men would catch on instantly.
Dylan’s voice grew gentler, his frosty demeanor melting just a touch. “Make sure you don’t skip your regular therapy sessions. I can drive you when the time comes.”
Christina’s voice rasped as she replied, “That’s really not necessary. I wouldn’t want to trouble you. Just give me the address and I’ll manage to get to Dr. Hampton on my own.”
Dylan’s expression cooled, the softness vanishing. Before he could say something, Morse jumped ahead, wearing a broad, easy grin. “No trouble at all! How could it possibly be trouble? If you were coming to see me, you’d need to make an appointment in advance. But if I come to you, it’s much more convenient for everyone, isn’t it?”
Morse knew better than to agree to the idea that Christina came to him for therapy sessions. With Dylan’s budding feelings toward her, he knew if he slipped his work address, he’d probably pay dearly for it.
Christina offered a faint smile. “Alright then, I’ll leave it to you. Sorry for putting you out.”
Since Morse had put it that way, she figured arguing further was pointless.
“No trouble at all,” Dylan stated curtly.
Morse’s gaze bounced between Dylan and Christina, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “So, what’s the plan? Miss Jones, do you need a ride home to get some rest, or…”
Christina shifted awkwardly, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. “I’ll just grab a cab. I can’t keep imposing on you.”
“It’s really no trouble. I was leaving anyway—it’s right on my way,” Dylan said, his face expressionless, though the words were a blatant offer.
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She hesitated, clearly unconvinced, but after a moment, she relented with a soft nod.
Just as the three turned to go, an embarrassingly loud rumble erupted from Christina’s stomach.
Morse grinned, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “Hungry, Miss Jones? How about we make Dylan treat us to a meal?”
Christina’s smile was warm, her embarrassment fading. “Let me treat you both instead. What do you feel like eating?”
Morse threw his hands up in mock protest, laughter bubbling in his chest. “Absolutely not! You don’t need to worry about Dylan’s wallet—he could never spend it all! But if you’re really reluctant to spend his money, you can spend mine instead.”
Christina let out a bright, musical laugh, her eyes narrowing into delighted crescents that shimmered with genuine happiness. Her laughter was infectious, and her effortless beauty seemed to radiate from every gesture, making it impossible to look away. Morse stood there, mesmerized for a few seconds, before Dylan’s icy gaze snapped him out of his daze.
Trying to cut through the tension with a bit of bravado, Morse adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and shot Dylan a lopsided, mischievous grin. “So, what’s the plan? Are you treating us or what?”
Ignoring Morse’s antics, Dylan turned his attention to Christina. The sharpness in his eyes faded, replaced by a rare gentleness. “Let’s just stay in. I’ll cook. Is there anything you can’t eat, or anything you’re craving?” His voice was unusually soft.
While Christina took his offer in stride, Morse could hardly believe his ears. What on earth was going on today? Was he dreaming? Dylan was actually volunteering to cook? In all the years they’d known each other, he could count on one hand the number of times Dylan had personally made a meal for someone. And now, here Dylan was, offering to whip something up for Christina. The implication was glaringly obvious—she was someone special.
With that realization, Morse’s gaze flicked to Christina, his eyes filling with fresh curiosity and genuine admiration. How had she managed to thaw even a corner of Dylan’s permafrost heart?
Right now, though, Morse mostly felt like celebrating his own good fortune. Coming over for Christina’s therapy had landed him the golden ticket: a chance to savor Dylan’s cooking skills.
A fizz of anticipation shot through Morse—only for Christina to cut in. “That’s too much trouble. Let’s just eat out. My treat. Order anything you like.”
Morse’s excitement fizzled in an instant. What was the point of a restaurant meal when Dylan’s home cooking was on the table? Still, Morse kept his disappointment to himself, knowing that if he complained, Dylan might shut down the offer entirely.
Dylan replied, “Seriously, it’s no trouble. I’ll whip up a few quick dishes. It won’t take long.”
In truth, Christina was tempted. She was already starving, and her stomach rumbled at the mere thought of Dylan’s cooking. But she hated to impose, which was why she’d suggested a restaurant in the first place. Now, seeing Dylan’s insistence, she realized he might be eager to impress—how could she refuse him that?
“Okay then. Let me help out in the kitchen,” she replied with an easy smile.
“I’ll help too!” Morse blurted out, thrusting his hand in the air. Before anyone could protest, Morse bolted for the kitchen, practically tripping over himself in his eagerness. Panic flickered across his face—if Dylan changed his mind, this rare treat would vanish in a heartbeat.
The more Morse thought about tasting Dylan’s dishes, the brighter his mood became. He couldn’t help but beam, a goofy grin plastered across his face as he started humming an off-key, happy tune.
Christina blinked, momentarily stunned by Morse’s sudden burst of enthusiasm. She watched him disappear at breakneck speed, barely processing what had just happened.
“Sometimes, he can be a bit much,” Dylan trailed off.
Christina let out a soft laugh. “He seems like a blast.”
Dylan’s expression cooled once more, a shadow of irritation passing over his face. “Yeah. You could say that,” he replied tersely. He then asked, “So, what do you want to eat? Any cravings?”
Christina’s lips curved in a gentle smile. “Easy to please—anything’s fine, really.”
Dylan wasted no time, launching into a rapid-fire list of dish options as if reciting a restaurant menu, gesturing for her to choose whichever ones appealed to her.
Christina hesitated, the sheer number of choices making her mouth water. “Are you sure this isn’t too much work? And, um, do you two even like spicy food?”
“We can handle it,” Dylan replied without hesitation.
As they started prepping ingredients, Morse peered over Christina’s shoulder. “All those chilies?”
Morse eyed the pile with clear suspicion. When did Dylan ever go for spicy dishes?
Before he could press Dylan for answers, Christina chimed in with a grin, “How about you? Are you good with spicy food?”
“Of course I am! It’s just…” Morse’s voice faltered as Dylan shot him a warning glare. He clamped his mouth shut, thinking better of finishing his sentence.
Christina arched an eyebrow, genuinely curious. “Just what?”
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