December Eighth
"Garrus, get your spiky butt down here!" Shepard yelled. She adjusted her borrowed apron and gave a final stir of her project; good. It was done, then. Probably. Not like she cooked that often ….
"Isn't it a little early for racism?" Garrus called from upstairs. His tone buzzed with humor.
Shepard laughed. "Come on, it's the first day I'm up before you, I have a surpri—" She stopped shouting abruptly as Garrus appeared in the doorway. "You need to make noise when you move."
"Pssh. I have to live with a Spectre, I'll take every advantage I can get." He looked entirely too smug, though, for having managed to sneak up on her.
"Close your eyes." Shepard moved to block the stove when he leaned forward. She didn't want him to know what she was working on yet.
"Why?" Garrus narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Is this payback for me winning the snowball fight?"
"Close your eyes."
Looking uneasy, Garrus backed away a pace, but closed his eyes. "I just want you to know that I trust you, Shep, so I know you wouldn't betray me."
Rolling her eyes at his melodrama, Shepard placed a small bite of her project in Garrus's mouth.
"What is this?" he asked.
"Caramel popcorn. Very traditional. And safe for turians, I checked."
"It's good." He opened his eyes. "You made this? Are you sure? What is it, again?"
Shepard swatted him with the spatula. "Just eat the damn popcorn," she mock-growled, rising up on her toes so he could take her in his arms and kiss her. His hands slid around to her bare ass, squeezing lightly.
"I thought you humans had rules against naked cooking," Garrus rumbled into her throat.
"I'm wearing the damn apron, aren't I?"