The little shadow that runs through the grass

magicandsteel:

“Well, I like yours.” Tim ducks his head, glancing up at her from under his lashes.

“If not helping is going to kill you, I could use a knife, from the fourth drawer to your left.” He’s not accustomed to having help, especially not when he’s cooking for a date- the handful of women he had woo’d had been more than happy to sit back and let him wait on them, but the last thing he wanted to do was make Messy uncomfortable. “Anchovies and pineapple?” He arches an eyebrow. “You like those?”

“Stop that with your eyes,” Messy says promptly, “and your eyelashes. That’s very unfair and I’m not having it.” She leans over to pull the drawer out and pauses, hovering: “You eat dinner with silver throwing knives?”