(GILBERT'S POV)
The kitchen smelled like heaven.
I watched, transfixed, as Jasper moved around the stove with the kind of effortless grace that shouldn't have been possible for someone who had just revealed himself to be a creature of shadow and fire. He plated the food with surgical precision—a seared cut of meat that glistened with herbs and butter, roasted vegetables that gleamed with olive oil, a sauce that swirled in perfect spirals across the plates.
It looked like something out of a five-star restaurant. It smelled like something out of there too.
"There you are," Jasper murmured, sliding one plate across the counter toward me. "Eat up. You look like you haven't had a proper meal in weeks."
I opened my mouth to argue—to point out that I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much—but my stomach betrayed me with a growl so loud it echoed off the kitchen walls.
