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Chapter 808 Miss McKinnon and Mr. Brighthall Must Be Close "Liar!" snarled Deirdre, scowling. She could not believe
herself. Falling for another one of Brendan’s lies again!?
She turned away from him and ignored him.
Brendan locked his fingers into the spaces between hers and pressed his chest against her back. "Don't be mad."
He breathed in her ears, his warm breath ticklish. "You're hungry, aren't you? I should make you some pasta."
"You?" Deirdre scoffed. With injuries like that, he could set the whole kitchen on fire from something as innocuous
as making pasta. Td rather do it myself. Leave me be."
Brendan’s eyes trembled. A smile shadowed his lips. "Are you telling me you’re going to make a portion for me?"
"How did you even come to that? I'm making pasta for myself. I ask you to leave because you’re getting in my
way!"
She shoved him aside and took some leafy vegetables from a clean, clear bag.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtDeirdre had spent quite some time in the kitchen shortly after she was married, so she knew its layouts and where
everything was by rote. Her sight had also recovered enough to make out vague shapes of everything, so making
pasta was hardly difficult.
She was so hungry she cooked about half a pot. She filled a bowl for herself and left the rest on the stove. Seeing
that, Brendan felt joy creeping into his chest and asked, "Did you make it for the two of US?" "No, I made it for one
of US, me. I was simply worried that I'd need seconds."
The thought of cooking some for him simply never crossed her mind. Her appetite had grown a lot lately.
Sometimes, she found herself craving seconds.
Brendan sat next to her and watched her eat, occasionally brushing strands of her hair away from her face. There
was nothing but intoxicated adoration in his eyes. "Wow, our kid sure has an appetite."
Deirdre ignored him. When she was finally full, there was still some left, which quickly became Brendan’s. He
managed to finish it all the way to the bottom of the pot, wolfing it down quickly without displaying his usual grace
and patience. One might even wonder if he had been starving for days.
Only Brendan knew why he acted this way. It had been so long since he tasted Deirdre’s cooking.
The doctor arrived on time to change his bandages. He was surprised to see Brendan eat without his usual
elegance, but seeing the pasta upset him more. "Didn't I tell you, Mr. Brighthall? No spices while you’re recovering.
That means no garlic, no onions, no ginger, and definitely no chilies’"
Deirdre had been craving food with stronger flavors lately, so she had added various spices.
However, Brendan did not mind it at all. He took a bite and muttered, "Just this once." "But it will hamper your
recove-’’
Brendan shot him a look, and the doctor faltered.
Naturally, Deirdre had heard it all already. It did not occur to her that Brendan was going against a physician's order
because she was the one who made it. Instead, she thought he was just too hungry to care and so elected to stick
to sitting on the couch and doing nothing.
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏmIt was time to redress his wounds. Brendan sat next to her during the process. The stench of his blood made
Deirdre's stomach churn. She was about to leave when Brendan locked his fingers with hers tightly,
The doctor noticed that and remarked, "The two of you sure are close."
Deirdre pretended not to hear him while Brendan shot an appreciative glance at the doctor.
The process was rather agonizing to him. He began to grab Deirdre's hand so tightly his palm was sweating.
Brendan rested his head on her shoulder when the doctor left and mumbled, "It hurts a lot, Deirdre."
She finally had enough. She retracted her hand away and snapped, "Are you done putting on a show? Tell the
doctor if it hurts’ I can't help you even if you keep complaining!" "I’m not acting... It does... hurt a lot."
Deirdre froze. His breaths were labored and heavy. The instability in his voice when he spoke implied that he was
trying to endure great pain.
She remembered Tobey's rescue as the reason he had been attacked and felt a little coerced into being a little
warmer. Frowning, she said, "It's the medicine, isn't it? Why didn't you say anything when the doctor was dressing
your wounds? I can't help you, you know."
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