“Rue, dinner’s ready.”
Suddenly, a man’s voice drifted closer.
On the other end of the line, Fanny and Hayley froze, exchanging a bewildered look.
Sylas stood in the doorway holding a spatula, a pink apron tied around his lean waist. Apparently, Mira loved pink, so most of the household items had gradually been replaced with that color.
Ruby slowly, stiffly, looked up, her eyes meeting Sylas’s. He, in turn, noticed the phone in her hand.
“What’s up? Are they on the phone?” he asked breezily, not a hint of embarrassment in his voice.
Fanny and Hayley, despite not being there in person, felt a wave of awkwardness.
Sylas… cooking?
They both twitched a smile, unable to reconcile the image with the suave, roguish man they knew.
Ruby cleared her throat, breaking the silence. “I’ll be right there.”
Sylas, not quite hearing her, took a couple of steps forward, waving the spatula. “What was that?”
“Get out of here first. I’ll be there in a minute to eat,” Ruby repeated, pressing a hand to her forehead in exasperation.
“We’re heading back now, Ruby. Since Mr. Cunningham cooked himself, you should go enjoy it,” Fanny’s voice came through the phone, tinged with suppressed laughter.
Ruby watched as Sylas nodded in agreement.
“Fine,” she muttered, her lips barely moving.



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