“That was stew-related,” she said.
“I did not say it was not.”
“Liam.”
“Penelope.”
She pointed the spoon at me. “Do not be cute right now. We are being summoned by my aunt’s revenge goddess after dinner.”
“Am I cute?!”
“You are when you get smug about vegetables.”
That should not have made my chest warm.
It did.
The problem with Penny was that she could take the worst day of my life, insult me with a spoon in her hand, and make me want to build her a house, a kingdom, and maybe a small temple with proper security and a pantry full of her grandmother’s stew.
Ridiculous.
Dangerous.
Pathetic, probably.
Not that it mattered anyway.
We were not mates.
We had never been together.
We were never going to be together.
I reminded myself of that with the grim dedication of a man punc
